Apocalypse Part 3: Fire and Rain
by Tyranusfan
Summary: Final story in the Apocalypse AU.  Dean has been freed from Hell, but is in the clutches of a demon that wants Sam to embrace his destiny. Sam and Bobby set out to rescue Dean, before the demon can carry out his plans. Rated T to be safe. Reviews  craved.
1. Chapter 1

**Fire and Rain **

_All righty, this is the third and final story in the Apocalypse 'verse. This was originally printed last year in Jeanne Gold's Blood Brothers 4 fanzine. _

_We pick up immediately after the end of part 2, as posted last week. _

_Thanks to the usual editing suspects, geminigrl11, Jeanne and K Hanna. I own nothing, reviews craved._

**SPNSPN**

**St. Joseph's Hospital**

**Syracuse, New York**

_Damned nurses_.

Sam fidgeted with the call button, wanting to call the nurse in and ask for his AMA papers—again—but knew he'd just get the same runaround he'd been getting for days: a bright smile, a pat on his arm, and a _Certainly, Mr. Raimi, if you're sure that's what you want. I'll go find Doctor Pierce and bring the papers to you as soon as I can_. Then the nurse would disappear. When he hit the button again, he got a different nurse, and the same blank-faced, all smiles, Stepford crap all over again.

The only thing that had prevented Sam from simply sneaking away from the hospital was the fact that getting out of the bed without help was next to impossible. Every time he tried, his cracked ribs protested painfully—which the docs didn't seem to care so much about—and he got incredibly dizzy—which they did—sending him collapsing back onto the pillow. After three tries, Sam had learned his lesson. He was stuck there, staring at four blandly decorated light green walls and a cracked, stained tile ceiling.

Pierce had him under observation for his multiple concussions, and had him on something that knocked him out completely when they gave it to him.

None of which helped his growing frustration. Dean was out there, finally freed from Hell, but ripped from Sam's grasp again after just minutes. He'd been taken by the demon Mullin, who had opened the portal in Gatlinburg in the first place. And he'd stolen the ancient book that had freed Dean.

When Mullin had escaped from the catacombs below the church campus, Dean and the ancient spell book in tow, Sam had been too injured to stop him. Had it not been for Father McBride, Sam likely would have died in the cave-in that followed.

_Damn it!_ Sam batted the small rolling table away from the bed, sending the remains of his barely edible lunch flying. He couldn't have cared less about the mess. He'd been so close! Dean had been _inches_ from his hand, free at last, but Sam had failed. The demon snatched Dean up and, for all Sam knew, had killed him—or worse. He didn't know whether or not people could be returned to Hell once they were released, and frankly, he didn't want to think about it. Dean had been right in front of him and Sam had been too weak to protect him.

Again.

The weight of that failure—yet another failure—was almost too much. Part of Sam wanted to pull the hospital sheets up over his head and give up. Pretend the world had stopped existing. But that left Dean out there, at a demon's mercy, and Sam was sure there'd been enough of that the past year. Dean needed him now more than ever.

Unfortunately, that brought him back to the ugly room, with its mundane paint job, and a hospital full of nurses who ignored him.

Sam snatched the call button angrily and went to jab it when Bobby's voice interrupted his furious thoughts.

"Harassing the nurses, kid?"

Sam looked up as the older hunter stepped through the door and strolled to a stop by the end of the bed. He sighed and tossed the call button aside. "I think I'm a prisoner here."

"They won't let you sign out AMA?"

"I keep asking," Sam growled, "but they won't listen to me."

"Ah. I can see how that might be frustrating for you."

Something in Bobby's seemingly understanding tone gave Sam pause. He narrowed his eyes and looked at his friend closer. "Bobby…"

"Hmm?"

That proved it. "What have you—? What did you tell them?"

Bobby shrugged casually, feigning innocence. "Nothing, really."

"Bobby—"

"Just that my fool son's head isn't screwed on right just now, that he thinks he's invincible when he clearly isn't, and that they should do everything they can to keep him in bed until he can move around on his own without falling over. The head nurse was very understanding. Said she'd take care of it."

"Bobby!"

"Sam! You're in no condition to leave. I'm just looking out for you, boy."

Sam shook his head. That was all well and good in theory, but it ignored a few very important matters. Dean, for starters, and other, more practical ones. Sam glanced at the door and lowered his voice. "Bobby, my insurance card won't hold up. As soon as they—"

"No, really?" Bobby mocked. "That's why I gave them one of mine."

"A fake card is a fake card," Sam scoffed quietly.

The elder man stared at him with a self-satisfied smirk. "I didn't give them a fake card."

Sam blinked. "What? Then what did—?" He paused, piecing things together. "You gave them one of _your_ insurance cards?"

Bobby favored him with a look of strained patience. "Yeah. I added you boys a long time ago. Couldn't do your brother much good, I hate to say."

For a moment, Sam was taken aback. "Why—? Why would you do that?"

Annoyed, Bobby huffed and glared at him. "Because you boys are the closest thing to family I got. Now, you need to get _better_, Sam. The doc downplayed it, but you were almost _killed_."

_Rest. Wait. Later_. The same words over and over. Sam shook his head. The litany of delays was driving him nuts. "But Dean—"

"You won't do Dean any good if you can't move, boy. Your ribs are cracked. You've had more than one concussion within a few days, and as far as I can tell, you haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks."

Sam couldn't help but smirk a little as he rolled his eyes. "You a doctor now, too?"

Bobby didn't share his amusement. "Smart-ass."

The moment of levity faded quickly. Sam's mood fell fast when he had nothing to do but think, and that was a large part of his wanting to get moving. He rolled his head on the pillow and looked out the room's small window. All he could see beyond were trees and a rainy sky. "Do you…do you have any idea how this feels, Bobby? To just…lay here while Dean…."

"Sam—"

"He was right there!" Sam cut him off, anger rising again. "I was so close! He was…he was…"

Sam couldn't say it out loud. Dean had been right in front of him, a hand's breadth out of reach. He'd looked so lost, terrified. Sam wasn't sure how much his obviously traumatized brother had comprehended in that cavern, but he'd started to recognize Sam, had made eye contact. After more than a year in Hell, his brother had been with him again, not in some crazy alternate universe or in a dream, but physically in front of him.

Before being ripped away, carried off by a demon with some agenda Sam hadn't begun to figure out. The feeling of failure and renewed loss washed over him and it was enough to make his eyes well up with tears. _What am I supposed to do?_

A hand squeezed his shoulder, drawing Sam's attention to Bobby's sad, sympathetic face. "Just…get some sleep if you can. Or watch TV. Something. Ellen's on her way, and I'm trying to get ahold of Joshua. We're going to find Dean and get him back. I promise. Just…wait a little longer. Build your strength back."

Sam nodded reluctantly, watching Bobby retreat from the room. Waiting was the last thing he wanted to do, and the only thing he could. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then let his hand drift down his cheek, tracing the itching wound where Mullin had maliciously cut the right side of his face to get the blood he needed to open the doorway to Hell.

His thoughts immediately turned to Samuel—his twisted, evil counterpart he'd encountered in that parallel universe—who had sported a scar in the same place. Sam wondered if his double had gotten it the same way, freeing Dean, or by some other chain of events. Wondered if his would look the same when it healed.

_Am I on the same road?_ Was he destined to turn into the monster that had tormented his own brother and brought his whole world to its knees? Sam had been having dreams ever since coming back through the portal, images of Dean telling him to turn back and abandon his obsession before it destroyed him.

_ I'm telling you to let it all go before it's too late. _

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe it already was.

**SPNSPN**

Sam started from his sleep, jarred awake by the sound of the intercom in the hallway.

"_Doctor Sardy to Room 302, please. Doctor Sardy, Room 302_."

He blinked as his eyes strained to adjust to the harsh light filtering in from the doorway. _Wasn't that door closed before?_

It was then that Sam realized a warm, soft hand was resting on his cold forehead. For a moment, he leaned into the heat, then his mind caught up to the fact that he was now awake, and a hand shouldn't be there. He flinched away, gasping when the sudden movement jarred his aching ribs and set the room spinning.

Sam struggled to train his eyes on the hand, then tracked up the arm to the face of the person standing over him. He expected a doctor or nurse, but who he saw startled him more than the unexpected touch.

"Didn't mean to wake you, Sam."

He stared, unable to comprehend for a moment. "_Sarah?_"

Sarah Blake smiled down at him and spoke softly, her hand brushing his sleep-tousled hair out of his eyes. "In the flesh."

Sam had to force himself not to stare or gape in shock. The last time he'd spoken to her had been over a year before, but he hadn't seen her in almost three years, when he and Dean had destroyed that haunted painting. There had been something of a spark between them—which his brother had been quick to egg on—but it had still been too soon after Jess' death, and Sam had been too afraid to open up. He'd finally given in and kissed her, right before leaving town, but had hardly stayed in touch. A few long-distance phone calls, all before Dean died.

That wasn't what was so jarring, though. Sam had seen Sarah Blake again, just three weeks ago, in the other universe. She'd been a resistance fighter, of all things. Hard-core, gun-toting…deadly. She'd nearly executed him when she thought he was Samuel.

She had also had a son. Samuel's heir. Sam's son, in a bizarre, mind-bending way. He had tried not to think too much about it since he'd gotten back.

For a few long moments, Sam wasn't sure which woman he was looking at: the lovely art dealer from his past or the fierce rebel from his recent excursion into Bizzaro World. Her face was softer, though, sympathetic. Not worn or bitter.

The real Sarah—_his_ Sarah, from years back—Sam decided finally. _Definitely_. Her eyes were innocent in a way the other woman's hadn't been. Not angry—violated—the way the other's had been.

"Cat got your tongue?" Sarah's bemused voice snapped him out of his deliberations.

Sam straightened up in the bed, stammering, "Uh—sorry. I mean…um, what are you doing here?"

Sarah's smile slipped slightly. Sam couldn't tell whether it was offense at his admittedly less than enthusiastic question, or something else. "Friend of mine works here, saw this dreamy, six-foot-four guy and a really old black Chevy that stands out like a sore thumb in the parking lot…put two and two together and called me."

Sam frowned a little at that. "I, uh, I didn't realize you had told people about me."

She laughed, running her hand through his hair. "Don't worry. I kept the whole ghost-hunting, life-saving job part out. Just focused on the…superficial."

"Oh. Okay." Sam wasn't sure what to say to that. "It's— It's good to see you again." _Here. Normal. Without a shotgun pointed at my head. Without a son that the other me forced you to have_… Sam shook his head slightly. Keeping that mirror universe straight—with its alternate Dean, Sam, and Sarah—would make him crazy if he wasn't careful.

"Yeah, you look really happy to see me," Sarah mocked lightly.

Sam blushed, and hurried to smooth things over. "I'm sorry. Really. Sarah, it _is_ good to see you. I'm just…a little screwed up right now. I didn't expect to see anyone I knew here."

She appeared to accept that, then let her hand slide lightly down his face, along the bandages covering his injury. "I know. You've been through a lot, I can tell. When I heard you were close-by and hurt, I had to come see you. I needed to talk to you."

"I wish I could have cleaned up for you a little."

"You look fine," Sarah said quietly. She drew back a little, hand resting on the bed near his. "Really fine, for someone who survived a cave-in."

Sam blinked. "They told you about that?"

"Oh, yes. You were really lucky, Sam."

"Not so much," Sam murmured. "I got him out, Sarah. Dean. I almost saved him, but— He was taken."

She looked concerned. Sarah knew about Dean's deal, knew that he had died and gone to Hell, even though Sam hadn't kept her in the loop since. She took his hand in hers. "Oh, Sam…I'm so sorry. Dean's always been your weakness. I know how hard this must be for you."

Sam looked up at her, startled. "What?"

"I hope Dean knows how lucky he is to have such a devoted brother. So…noble…."

Something was wrong. Sam stared up at her. "Why are you saying these things, Sarah?"

She released his hand with a sigh, and when she looked down at him, her green eyes changed, flipping to a beetle black. "Like I said, I needed to talk to you."

Before he could react, she clamped one hand over his mouth and the other against his side. Sam reached for her arm, but groaned as she pressed her fingers into his skin, placing pressure on his injured ribs. He reached for her again, but released a muffled cry as she increased the pressure. He dropped his arm to cradle his torso.

"Play nice, Sam. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it while you were asleep."

"Who are you?" Sam demanded when she dropped her hand, gritting his teeth as he tried to straighten out his torso to ease the pain.

"I'm Sarah, sweetie, can't you see? Oh, you mean who am _I_?" Sarah winked at him coyly. "I think you know. We were having such a nice conversation before that priest interrupted us."

"Mullin." Sam remembered the demon all too well. He remembered Mullin pinning him and almost killing Dean with Ruby's knife right before his eyes.

Sarah's eyes glittered menacingly. "See? You do remember."

"Where's Dean?"

"Somewhere safe. I admit, I was a tad angry with you earlier, but now that I've had time to think, I regret trying to kill him. You went to so much trouble arranging for his release, after all. Dean's actually going to come in quite handy, I think."

Sam grimaced, but he was getting used to the ache in his chest, and it was already easier to breathe and talk. He stayed still and kept his eyes on the demon. "What do you want?"

"I thought it would have been obvious by now, Sammy." The demon grinned deviously, tapping the end of Sam's nose with almost sincere affection. "You."

"Me?"

"Of course." The demon smiled wider, not elaborating.

Sam blinked up into Sarah's face, trying to think of a safe way to exorcise the demon and free her. All of his weapons were in the Impala, the only salt he had access to on the rollaway table with his lunch. Out of reach. Sam could try an exorcism, but without any traps or wards to keep the demon in place, he probably wouldn't get far with the recitation. Maybe if he kept it talking, Bobby would choose an opportune moment to return. "Well, you got me. I'm not going anywhere. What now?"

Mullin stared at him a moment, then frowned. "You really haven't thought about it, have you? You've been so obsessed over Dean, you haven't bothered to piece the clues together."

"I'm tired, I'm sore," Sam growled. "So, get to the point, if you have one."

Mullin laughed softly. "Unbelievable. I was under the impression you were smarter than this. Well, let me enlighten you, Sam. Should we start at the beginning?" The demon stepped back, strolling casually around the bed toward the small window. "Azazel—Yellow Eyes, if you prefer to call him that—chose you. He wanted a general to lead his army, and he pinned his hopes on you. Not really sure _why_. He didn't trust any of us enough to say."

"You worked for him," Sam interrupted. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, for a long time. Didn't help. Azazel was a tyrant…kept us all at arm's length. Whatever his reasons, he had you brought to Cold Oak with the expectation that you would win his little Miss Psychic Warrior, USA. contest. Had us all believing you were a shoo-in, smarter than the others, a trained fighter, a hunter who knew what he was up against. Needless to say, we were more than a little surprised when you oh-so-sloppily let Jake stab you in the back."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't fond of the memory, especially in light of what his mistake had ultimately cost him.

"Jake wasn't half the general we needed him to be. Azazel knew that, but he was stuck with the little Army brat and had to use him. But that's when dashing, heroic Dean-o stepped up to the plate. He made his deal, brought you back from the dead, and we were back in business. We could still have our general. Everything was back on track…."

"All that died when Dean killed Yellow Eyes," Sam corrected, a small grin pulling at his lips. Despite what happened later, he could still feel the flush of victory from that night. Dean had done it, fulfilled the family's vendetta after so long. He glanced at the table, wishing the salt shaker was just a few feet closer to the bed.

Mullin turned, smiling contemplatively. "Hmm, yes. Not exactly according to plan. Nor did we expect you to take off with Dean afterward. We were hoping the winner of Azazel's contest would emerge…raring to go, I guess. No one expected you to say _no_."

"Sorry to disappoint," Sam retorted smugly.

"I'm sure. So, with you on the road, fighting the good fight, Azazel dead, Jake dead…well, that left Lilith to fill the power vacuum. Again, not what we planned."

"What does it matter? You still get your war, whoever's in charge."

Mullin spun on his—Sarah's—heel and walked back to the bed, looking at Sam sternly, as if correcting a child. "Azazel was a heartless, manipulative dictator, but he was nothing like that bitch. Lilith has her own plans, and they didn't include any of us. We were on her shit list from the moment she escaped Hell."

"Still doesn't seem to matter," Sam shot back. "She hasn't made any more progress than Yellow Eyes did."

"What? You think the war's been on hold this past year while you've been drinking yourself into the gutter?" Mullin sneered. "Lilith's been making progress since she took Dean from you, just not on _this_ continent. But her preoccupation gave the few of us that still believe in the original plan some breathing room. Our Plan B, you could say."

Sam didn't like the sound of that at all. Mullin was reveling in his monologue, though, and with any luck, Sam might gain something useful from the history lesson, so he kept quiet.

"You wouldn't play ball, and after Dean died, you…well, let's just say, a grieving drunk wasn't going to do us much good. Besides, you protected yourself very well. We couldn't find you most of that year. So, it fell to me. I needed to get the 'master plan' back on track, and you were still Azazel's favorite. I had to think outside the box, though." Mullin stepped back, holding up his hands like a scale. "Lilith on the one hand, an uncooperative Sam on the other. What to do? What to do? I just needed to find a Sam that _would_ cooperate."

The realization hit Sam like cold water. "The portal. You were going to bring Samuel here…to this world."

Mullin clapped Sarah's hands and laughed. "See? I knew you'd drop the missing piece into place! You just need to apply yourself. So much easier when you're _sober_."

"That was why…" Sam trailed off. _The vortex in Gatlinburg_. Mullin was behind it all. Samuel would have come into this world and led Azazel's army, like he had in his own universe.

"Of course!" Mullin proclaimed. "Do you know how hard it was, discovering how to open that portal? It took me centuries of digging to find the rituals and spells, the power we needed even to _try_ it."

"No one was supposed to find you in Gatlinburg…." Sam connected the dots. He hadn't even realized the scope of it all.

"Indeed," Mullin sighed. "It turns out you have a talent for disrupting plans. Not only did you find the portal, but you beat me to Samuel. You killed him, and collapsed the doorway before I could catch up to you. Very _irritating_, I must say."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Isn't it obvious? You killed Samuel, ruining Plan B. But Lilith's still out there, and we still need her gone…so we find ourselves left with Plan A, or maybe Plan _C_. You."

It clicked into place with horrifying clarity. Sam had been having visions ever since returning from the other universe, seeing himself broken by unseen captors, slowly becoming a monster, just like Samuel. The Boy King, just as the demons seemed to want. He hadn't been sure if he was seeing _his_ future, or somehow seeing that other Sam Winchester's fate.

Now he had his answer.

The depth of that prospect was too much for Sam to take in all at once. He had to get away from Mullin—away from that future—but how? Fighting was a dubious idea, between his ribs and the concussion. The demon wasn't likely to let him call a nurse and flee.

_How did he get back here, anyway?_ The question rose unbidden in his mind. Maybe if he asked, he might buy himself a few minutes to think of a way out of this mess.

In the cavern, before Mullin brought Dean back, he'd showed Sam a vision. He'd been present in the other universe when that Dean had returned Sam to the portal. Sam frowned up at him. "You were there…you showed me how you watched when I went back through and destroyed the gateway. But how—?"

"Did I get back?" Mullin chuckled, but he was looking at the door. "Well, you have company coming. I'm going to have to go, looks like, but if you really want to know…"

Mullin pressed his hand against Sam's forehead again. The hospital room melted away in a flash of lightning.

"_Bye, Sammy…." _

_The soft, sad words floated to him on the wind. Sam looked around, finding himself standing amidst rubble. The remains of the house in Gatlinburg, on the other side of the portal. _

_He turned and saw Dean looking into the swirling blue vortex, and realized he was seeing events in the other universe right after he left. _

_His brother's counterpart hesitated a moment, then knelt. With one final look into the whirlpool-like gateway, Dean broke the magic circle that controlled the portal. Seconds later, the vortex flashed violently and disappeared. _

_Dean stood, glancing at the storm-torn sky as he headed back to the parked car. He dropped gracelessly into the driver's seat and started off, looking determined but hopeless. _

_He must be headed back to Sarah and the others…. _

_In another flash of lightning, Sam was suddenly…somewhere else. He blinked and shook off a wave of vertigo. The landscape was totally different, flatter, more desolate. He was in front of a dreary, concrete, two-story building, set back from the road and surrounded by small, charred trees and overgrown shrubs. The car Dean had been in was parked haphazardly by the front door of the structure._

_Storms twisted the clouds and rain pelted him, even stronger there than before. Wherever he was. There were some more scorched trees behind him, and the cracked and overgrown remains of a road beneath him. _

_A battered, burned-out school bus was laying on its side across the road, about fifty feet away. Bodies were scattered around the wreckage, some weapons, some burnt and rain-soaked boxes. He took a few steps toward the carnage, but something made him pause and look up. _

_The storm clouds churned, almost forming a tornado-like funnel directly over the building. But what grabbed his attention were the swirling smoky shapes riding the winds, blacker than the rain clouds they danced in and out of... _

_Demons. Lots of them. Hundreds maybe, Sam couldn't be sure. Alarmed, he backed away from the remains of the bus and ran for the building, and hopefully a hiding place. The entrance to the structure was clear, despite the overgrowth everywhere else. Protection sigils and anti-demon signs were carved into the concrete around the door, and even into the tree trunks. _

_Inside was no better. More bodies: men, women, even children. Sam stumbled through the darkened halls. His trek took him down a rotted wooden staircase and into what seemed to be a honeycomb of rooms and corridors. He skidded to a halt in a spacious, high-ceilinged room lit by candles. _

_Sam stared in horror at what occupied the room. Ropes slung from rafters held five bodies, each upside down and situated over the points of a pentagram. Two of them were young men, but the others…._

_Dean, Sarah, and Sammy—the young son of Sarah and Samuel—all hung by their ankles, throats cut, dull eyes staring sightlessly, blood everywhere…._

_Beyond them, through an open door in another room, against the far wall, a bright blue whirlpool of light and smoke hovered a few feet off the floor, roiling like a tiny, silent hurricane. Sam had seen it before— _

"Tell you what, Sammy," Sarah's voice cut into the nightmarish images. "When you're feeling better, come find me. I'll keep your little girlfriend warm for you…and you might even see your brother again, if you play ball."

Sam opened his eyes, only to be hit with a wave of dizziness. He was vaguely aware of Mullin walking out of the room. He moved to get up, only to be painfully reminded of the angle of the bed. He fell back against the pillow clutching his ribcage.

"Sam?"

Bobby was entering the room when Sam looked up. He motioned past the older man toward the door. "Did you see her?"

"Who?" the older man asked, glancing out into the hall around the corner. "Nobody there. Who'd you see?"

Sam grabbed at the bed railing, straining to sit up. "Sarah…I mean, Mullin, the demon from the church—he possessed her—"

"Slow down." Bobby gripped Sam's shoulder. "Sarah…your friend Sarah? The one from New Paltz?"

Sam nodded. "Mullin has her. He was just here."

"Are you all right? What did he want?"

He swallowed thickly. "Me. He wanted me."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was relatively easy to convince Bobby to help him leave after that. It was too hard to protect a hospital room against demons when there were so many nurses and orderlies watching every move.

The only condition was that Bobby made him promise to stay in his motel, resting the way he was supposed to be—albeit in a safer location. Sam had agreed, more out of discomfort than actual desire. He wanted to get on with tracking down Mullin. At the moment, though, he needed Bobby's help to get around.

"So what did you dig up?" Sam asked, stretched out on the queen-sized bed. He had all the room's pillows around and behind him, and his makeshift perch was damned comfortable. Sam wasn't about to tell Bobby, though.

Bobby flipped through his notes, double-checking something on the laptop's monitor before looking back at Sam. "Well, from what I could find, Mullin was—or is, I guess—a lieutenant of the demon Leonard."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Leonard? That's a demon name? I didn't know that."

"You'd be surprised." Bobby smirked. "Leonard was a master of black magic and sorcery, and myth has it Mullin was his best student."

"That sounds about right, from what I've seen of him." Sam nodded. "I guess you'd have to be pretty good with the dark arts to go around opening doorways into other universes."

Bobby grunted in agreement. "I also found a reference to him in one of my books on crossroads deals. The name Mullin is mentioned as a sorcerer who sold his soul trying to make himself more powerful. This demon might be the same guy. Actually, I'm kinda surprised you don't remember seeing his name. You read all these books about demon deals when you were trying to break Dean's."

Sam's mood blackened. He didn't like thinking about that year, even so long after. He spoke quietly, picking at a loose thread on his blanket. "I was only interested in how those stories _ended_, Bobby."

The older man caught his tone. "Yeah. I know."

_I don't wanna die. I don't wanna go to Hell. _

_We'll find a way to save you._

"Did you…?" Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block memories of Dean out of his mind so he could think. His brother was back now, and if Sam was going to rescue him, he needed to keep his head in the game. "Did you find anything else? Maybe some way to find him?"

The other hunter looked uncomfortable. "Actually, yeah, I did. And I want to apologize up front for not paying attention sooner."

Sam gave Bobby a perplexed look and watched as the other man stood and turned on the television.

After a moment flipping channels, Bobby pointed at the screen and turned back to him. "I think we should start looking right here."

A news report was playing. Red headlines scrolled along the bottom of the broadcast, talking about damages, evacuations, and relief supplies. A semiattractive redheaded anchor was handing off the story to someone in the field named Ann.

"Cati, I'm standing outside the Municipal Building in downtown San Antonio, where police and public safety officials just released another statement. The storm that has been pounding the city for the last three weeks has grown in intensity seemingly overnight. Already, extensive flooding has cut off major segments of the city, causing upwards of two billion dollars in damage, and claiming the lives of at least six people…."

Sam watched as the view changed to a satellite image. The clouds were swirling rapidly, extending out in at least a hundred mile radius around San Antonio. He gasped. "That's—"

"Yeah, the same kind of storm we saw in Gatlinburg. I don't know how I missed it," Bobby supplied grimly.

"We've been a little busy the last couple of weeks," Sam mollified him. They had started searching the churches in New York the moment Sam had gotten back in Tennessee.

The reporter continued. "The mayor has proposed evacuations, and the governor's office issued orders today for the National Guard to act as the ongoing police force as well as assist the overwhelmed local agencies as they struggle to rescue residents who are trapped in their homes and even their offices.

"Meteorologists say that what began as an unusually intense summer thunderstorm has continued to grow, pulling in air and moisture from the Gulf of Mexico, transforming itself into a Category Five hurricane. With ferocious winds whipping through the area and water as high as three feet in some locations, evacuation is now, to quote the mayor, 'unavoidable and urgent.'"

Sam stared at the screen, his mind flashing back to the vision Mullin gave him in the hospital. He'd seen a portal there, with the bodies of Dean, Sarah, and her son hanging dead—

"Hey, you all right?" Bobby's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Yeah, I think so," Sam murmured, "Mullin's created another gateway. I saw it."

Bobby watched him, pursing his lips in thought. "You said that demon was watching you when you came back through from the other side?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, he showed me."

"So, how'd _he_ get back if you closed the door?"

"Dean." Sam swallowed. "The other Dean, after he took me to the portal, he headed to Texas to meet up with Sarah and the other survivors of Samuel's attack. From what I saw, they made it to the other safe house, but…demons overran them there. I think Mullin followed Dean there. In the hospital yesterday he showed me a vision. I saw bodies on the roadside, and inside this building I saw where he—"

When Sam didn't continue, Bobby frowned. "Where he what?"

"He strung Dean and Sarah up, like that family we found in Gatlinburg. Used their blood for the spell to open the gate. Slit their throats." Sam glanced away, the image haunting him.

"I'm sorry."

He looked back at Bobby, trying not to sound bitter. "Doesn't really matter, right? Wasn't like that other guy was _my_ brother."

Except he _was_. Another universe, another time and place, but Dean was Dean. Anywhere. Just like Sam was Sam. Or Samuel. Or both. Sam absently ran his fingers over the bandage covering the side of his face.

"So," Bobby began quietly, eyeing Sam, "this building you saw. You think you could find it? Assuming it exists on this side, that is."

Sam bit his lip and shrugged. "Maybe. I mean, the storm in Gatlinburg was centered right over the house where Mullin made the first portal. That building should be right under that storm now. I bet Mullin will have Dean and Sarah there, too."

"Sam…"

_That_ tone. The one that meant Bobby was having doubts. Sam had heard that a lot the last few weeks. "Yeah?"

"Do I have to say it?"

"Say what?"

Bobby sighed. "The only reason this demon would be there, so easy to find, is because he wants you to come to him. You said it yourself, he wants you to finish…whatever that yellow-eyed bastard started with you, and he's using Dean and Sarah to lure you in."

Sam leveled a glare at his old friend. "He doesn't have to _lure_ me anywhere. I'm going. I can't let Dean… I just can't. I'll walk into his trap if I have to."

Bobby was right, though: it was a painfully obvious trap. And as much as Sam would like to think he could beat a demon at its own game, he certainly wouldn't be able to in his current state. _Beat half to hell_…. "Do you have any ideas?"

Bobby stared at him, face impassive. "Let someone else go. Hunters who aren't as…attached to this problem."

Sam stared at him in shock. How could Bobby even think he could sit this hunt out? "You want me to just lay here and let _strangers_—?"

"Sam, listen—"

"No, you listen!" Sam snapped. "I spent a year trying to find a way to get Dean out of Hell, and when I finally found it…" He took a breath, trying to steady his voice, "When I finally found it, he was taken away again. I have to find him, Bobby. I _have_ to. It's the only thing I can think about."

The older hunter looked like he wanted to reply but instead, he just shook his head and glanced out the window.

Sam sighed softly. "I'll go alone if I have to."

Bobby looked back at him with a reproachful expression. "You know you don't. Besides, you'd never make it to Texas. I had to help you go the six blocks from the hospital."

Sam smirked. "I'm fine. I just wanted you to feel useful."

"Yeah," Bobby snorted. "Right. Okay. Give me a few minutes to call Ellen again, let her know what we've found out."

Silence fell over them. Sam watched the news report from San Antonio while Bobby flipped open his phone.

Sam's ribs ached. The painkillers had worn off an hour or so earlier, but he was too exhausted to take the time to slide gingerly out of bed and get more. He hadn't thought to keep them on the nightstand and didn't want to interrupt Bobby. The pain was getting easier to manage, anyway.

Besides, Sam was pretty sure he deserved to lay there aching. In the course of one month, he'd gone from completely given up on ever seeing Dean again and perfectly happy at the bottom of a Jack Daniels bottle, to reenergized and ready to save his brother, then right back to utter screw-up and failure.

He couldn't get Dean's terrified face out of his mind. Sam had been so close. Close to rescuing Dean from the fate he didn't deserve. Close to having his brother back with him, where he belonged. Close to redeeming himself. He'd failed to save Dean twice now. Three times if he counted that other Dean, the one who'd risked his life to send Sam home from the other universe. And now Sam knew fate had found that Dean, too.

Winchesters in every reality seemed to have an entirely too-intimate relationship with untimely death.

Bobby suddenly spoke again while scrolling down the contacts list, breaking into Sam's morose thoughts. "One thing is buggin' me. You said this demon crossed over to find you—er, Samuel, sorry—and then came back here just after you did?"

"Yeah, that's what he told me. Seems accurate, based on what I saw in the visions."

"Okay…well, that was three weeks ago. Why is his portal still open?"

Sam frowned. He had been so focused on Dean, he hadn't considered that very much. "I don't know."

"Neither do I." Bobby nodded, pressing the phone to his ear. "But I'd bet my house we won't like the reason when we find out."

Sam shifted to a slightly more comfortable position while he waited. His back was sore too, bruised from being slammed into the cavern walls by Mullin and his buddies. Fortunately, the cracked ribs and carved face distracted him from those aches. _I'm a lucky man_.

He let his eyes drift shut while the news droned on, different parts of his body throbbing lightly in time with his pulse. At least the bed was comfortable. Bobby had good taste in motels. Sam swallowed, his throat tightening uncomfortably. As the seconds ticked by, it became harder and harder to draw a breath, until finally, he couldn't get any air at all.

Panicking, Sam's eyes snapped open and he grabbed at the hands he felt gripping his throat. He wasn't in the motel anymore. Sam tried to see who was choking him, but his vision was clouded, like staring into dark fog. His eyes darted left and right, settling on the bright, swirling vortex in the distance.

It was Mullin's portal, connecting this world and the one Sam's counterpart had destroyed.

The surroundings became clearer, and Sam realized he'd seen this place before, in the vision Mullin had shown him: he was inside the building he and Bobby were betting was in Texas. But this time what he was seeing was far worse. Demons were pouring from the vortex, a proverbial flood of black, oily smoke. Blue and yellow energy crackled along their flanks as they roiled over and around each other. The stream of demons snaked back and forth around the room before shooting past Sam and out an open door.

The hands tightened impossibly, and Sarah's sneering, possessed face emerged from the mist. Her eyes were solid black, an abyss that seemed to draw Sam further into the darkness.

"_Be what you were meant to be, Sam. We need you_..."

Sam struggled to turn his head away, averting his eyes from Sarah's twisted visage. On the floor behind her, Dean lay on his back, blood staining his shirt and pooling on the floor behind him—from what looked like a gunshot wound. His brother's eyes were locked open in an expression of terror, but there was no life in them.

_No._...

"Sam!"

Sam gasped awake, coughing. The room spun as he glanced around, frantically trying to figure out where he was. He looked up into Bobby's startled face. "Wha—?"

"You were gasping like you couldn't breathe," Bobby said, sounding worried.

"I'm—I'm okay."

"You don't look okay," Bobby muttered, frowning.

Sam sighed, shaking off the remnants of what he'd seen. A headache was blooming just behind his temples, a sure clue it had been a vision; he hadn't dozed off and had a dream. _Not good_. "I think I know why Mullin kept the portal open this long," he said quietly, rubbing the side of his head. Pain was beginning to throb there.

"So, vision, huh? That was sudden." When Sam nodded, Bobby grunted. "What'd you see?"

Sam described the scene: Sarah still possessed, choking him as demons flowed out of the gateway, Dean lying dead at his feet. He stumbled over that part of it, not needing another image of _that_. _Been there, done that_.

"I kinda hoped I'd never see another army of demons invading the planet," Bobby groused quietly, dropping into a chair beside the windows.

Sam understood. Once was more than enough, and their _once_ had been two years and month earlier, when Jake opened the Devil's Gate in Wyoming.

"So, why? This Mullin doesn't think there are enough demons tearing up the world as it is?"

"I think there's more to it," Sam mumbled, the headache building to migraine intensity. "He wanted Samuel, but I'm his backup plan, remember? I think he wants Samuel's army from that other world—an army that would be loyal to _me_—and then he wants me to lead it. He can follow through on whatever plans Azazel left unfinished and use me to knock off Lilith, too."

Bobby scratched his beard. "Wonderful. Well, obviously, we need to get to San Antonio before he goes through with any of this. I don't suppose that vision of yours gave us a date? Assuming he hasn't already started bringing that army here."

Sam shook his head, pushing the covers off and easing himself to the edge of the bed. "No. But like you said, he's been here three weeks, and only part of that was spent chasing me down here in New York. I think he'll get started sooner rather than later. We have to get going."

"Whoa, hang on," Bobby objected, standing abruptly. "You're in no shape to go anywhere yet. Not without help anyway, and Ellen's not answering. I can't keep you moving and go up against demons at the same time."

"I don't suppose you have a better idea?"

The older man huffed. "I say wait for Ellen. She'll be here tomorrow, and Jefferson said Joshua should be close-by. Give me time to track them down. We can all go together."

"We might not have time. Mullin could already be bringing them in." Sam grunted as he stood. He started gathering his belongings. "I think we should leave tonight. Call Ellen, tell her to turn around and head for San Antonio. We can call Joshua on the way. We can't let that many demons come here. There are already hundreds roaming around, and we're barely holding the line."

In all honesty, Sam was less concerned about Mullin and another invading demon army than he was about finding Dean. Fast and safe. Sam was in no mood to hear _be patient_ or _we have to be careful_. Patient and careful never got them anywhere.

Bobby, to Sam's surprise, seemed to accept Sam's reasoning with no argument.

"You could be right. Damn it. All right, you get ready to move out, try to wake up. I'll try Ellen and Joshua again."

Sam nodded. He gathered his clothes and headed into the small bathroom, listening to Bobby dialing. Hopefully, Ellen could meet them in Texas, and Joshua would be close enough to help. Regardless, Sam was starting down immediately. He was finished waiting.

When he emerged from a quick shower—awake, if not all that refreshed—Bobby was seated at the small table with a frustrated expression. When he saw Sam, he motioned impatiently at his cell phone.

"I tried Ellen half a dozen times. Wherever she is, or wherever she stopped for the night, there's no reception. No luck with Joshua, either."

_Cut off from help_, a voice in Sam's head pointed out. Ominous, but the suspicion alone was not enough to stop him. Pulling on a new shirt, Sam eyed Bobby intently, wondering how hard the next part would be. "We have to go, with or without them."

The older hunter met his gaze soberly. "I know."

_Little too easy_, Sam thought. But he would take what he could get.

**SPNSPN**

They were two hours out from Syracuse when Sam succumbed to sleep. The abrupt departure had energized him at first, but the monotonous drone of Interstate-90 had worn him out quickly. He hadn't slept enough in the past few weeks as it was. Sitting on the passenger side didn't help. Bobby had insisted on driving, probably hoping Sam would doze off.

Against Sam's will, it was working. He struggled to keep his eyes open, wanting to review what little Bobby had dredged up about the storm and the area around San Antonio. Those printouts and notes lay on his lap, drooping in time with his head as it bobbed up and down against the cool glass of the window. He hadn't read but a few lines.

"I can't let you out of my sight for a _minute_, Sammy."

Sam jolted awake. He blinked, looking around the darkened car in confusion. _When did I fall asleep? _He straightened in the seat, surprised when no pain stopped the motion. His ribs didn't hurt anymore. Sam's eyes settled on a dark shape in the driver's seat, slouched against the cushion and casually gripping the steering wheel. The shadowy blob shifted and moved, silently growing more distinct until it entered a sliver of moonlight cutting through the windshield.

The moonlight made his eyes darker, shiny, and washed out his complexion, but it was definitely his brother.

Sam blinked. "Dean?"

His brother paused and cocked his head to the side, as if sizing Sam up. "I think we've been over this, Sammy…."

Something about the tone, the appearance, the way Dean moved—Sam blinked again, his thoughts slowing coming together. "You're not Dean."

"Nope."

"I'm dreaming again."

"Uh-huh."

Sam remembered. This was the Dean he'd been seeing in his sleep, the part of his own mind that had tried to warn him about his future. About the danger he seemed to be in.

_I'm telling you to let it all go before it's too late. _

He slumped back against the seat with a sigh, hope dying before he even realized he was feeling any. He addressed the dream image of his brother like he was real, not sure how else to treat it. This Dean was the closest he'd come to seeing his brother alive in a long time, that moment in the catacombs notwithstanding. "I miss you."

"I know." Dean drummed his fingers lightly on the wheel, stopping to look Sam over quietly. "You got yourself pretty beat up."

"Yeah." Sam nodded, whispering, "Didn't do you any good."

"Busted ribs, busted head, face sliced and diced." Dean ticked off the items like a laundry list. "Bunch of demons released from Hell—"

"They're trapped underground," Sam interjected testily. He really didn't need his failures itemized for him. He got that enough when he was awake.

"_Barely_." Dean smirked at him, resuming his drumming. "Got a priest killed, and a demon got away not only with a book that can open a door to the Pit, but with…_me_! That's quite a score you racked up, Sam. Now you're walking right into that demon's hands."

"What do you want from me?" Sam snarled. "I'm doing the best I can!" It just wasn't good enough. _It never is_.

Dean reached forward and grabbed Sam's chin, forcing Sam to look him in the eye, ignoring the road as if the car wasn't moving. Sam flinched when he saw Dean's eyes were now black.

"I want you to _listen_, bro," Dean growled, face suddenly inches from Sam's. "I tried to warn you. I tried to make you understand." He released Sam's jaw and slapped him hard across the cheek. Pain erupted along the long cut, making Sam gasp. "This is your future! You're gonna be just like _him_! _Don't you get that?_"

Sam didn't have to ask which "him" Dean meant. _Samuel_. His future self. The demon-king. The butcher with the scar along his face.

"You're gonna kill and destroy, and not give a damn about any of it. The whole world will burn around you!" Dean hissed. "Blood on _your_ hands."

Dean pulled back, eyes flicking back to their normal human color. When he spoke again, his voice had softened. "I never wanted that for you, Sam. I wanted you to get on with your life."

Eyes watering from the hit, Sam looked up at him. "How? How can I move on knowing what my life cost you?"

The image of Dean looked sad. He reached out and brushed Sam's bangs away from his face, like the real Dean had when Sam had been growing up. His hand settled on Sam's shoulder. "I don't know. I'm sorry, kid. I don't have any answers."

"Dean—"

"Sam?"

Sam jumped, startled. His injured ribs didn't appreciate the movement. He opened his sleep-encrusted eyes and looked around. He was still in the Impala, but it was different. Darker. Bobby was in the driver's seat casting a concerned look his way.

"You were dreaming."

The ache along the injured side of his face certainly felt like the slap was more than a dream. Rubbing it gently, Sam figured he had just been leaning his face too hard against the window. He cleared his throat and shrugged it off. "Yeah."

"Nightmare or vision?"

Sam blinked, eyes settling on the reflectors imbedded in the highway surface. "Warning, I guess."

"Him again." It wasn't a question.

Sam had told Bobby about the dreams he'd been having, his brother's warnings. It didn't seem to help the older man's concerns lately that Sam might be losing it.

"Sam...you know he's not real, right? I mean— He's not Dean. He's just some part of _you_."

"Thanks, Dr. Freud." Sam shot Bobby a smirk.

"I'm no shrink," Bobby protested in irritation. "But I've known more than one hunter who eventually started seeing things or hearing voices. There's nothing supernatural about it. People just have their limits."

"You're back to thinking I'm nuts?" Sam asked. He thought the words would come out bitter or angry, but they just sounded flat, resigned, even to his own ears.

"No, Sam. You're not crazy, but..."

"But?"

Bobby took a deep breath, obviously not liking the subject. "But you've been on autopilot ever since Dean died. You hunt, you get hurt—you _drink_—and now a demon is waving your brother in front of you and I don't think anyone would be thinking clearly about all that."

"I haven't had a drink in almost a week," Sam said defensively. It wasn't for lack of _wanting_ one, but the nurses had their rules. Unfortunately. He intentionally ignored the rest of Bobby's charge.

"All I'm saying is this demon knows your weak spots, and he wants some pretty bad things for you _and _the rest of us," Bobby said quietly. "You might not be able to see the big picture here."

_I thought I was doing the right thing, leaving Sam alone like that. I was wrong. Somewhere along the way, he screwed up. I don't know what it was, he never told me. But he made a mistake and the world paid for it…_

That other Dean's words echoing in his mind, Sam nodded. "I know. That's why I need you to make sure I don't screw up."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The storm raging over San Antonio was worse than the one Sam drove through in Gatlinburg. Hurricane-force winds drove rain sideways across the highway, and visibility was reduced to almost zero. Lightning arced across the dark gray sky every few minutes, and each crash of thunder rattled the Impala's interior.

Fortunately, the evacuation of San Antonio had been going on for two days, and after skirting around a few roadblocks, they were able to circle the city on I-410 unmolested by the authorities. During the long ride down the previous day, Sam had scoured the weather reports and satellite images Bobby had collected back in New York, and as far as he could determine, the hurricane's swirling eye was centered over Farm Road, southeast of the city. Specifically, over a small, nondescript building just off a country road.

The Haunted Insane Asylum of San Antonio had a sordid history, and was generally known for being abandoned and, well, haunted. From what Dean had told him in the other universe, and what he'd seen in the visions Mullin gave him, the asylum was also the backup safe zone Sarah and the others had tried to reach after Samuel overran the camps in Wyoming. A haunted asylum was an unusual choice, but Dean must have known something about it that made it safe from demons.

When Bobby had insisted they stop for lunch, Sam looked online, trying to dig up more information about their destination. He found little about it, except that it had opened in 1892 as a completely self-contained institution. Crops were grown on the grounds, there was a lake for fishing, and thick tree lines isolated the whole six hundred and forty acres from the rest of civilization. It had closed, but Sam couldn't find out when or why. The whole property was abandoned and in bad shape. The trees had thinned out over time, if the picture he found on Google was any indication, but still obscured the site from passersby.

Regardless, it was easy enough to find. Bobby pulled the car to a stop along the side of the road a few hundred feet from the gray blockhouse that seemed to be their destination. The two-lane road was paved, flooded in places, and flanked by widely-spaced telephone poles and a wire cattle fence. The road came to an abrupt end just past the asylum, capped by a short wooden barricade, beyond which were only trees and a path leading into wilderness.

Sam gave the place a once-over, having to stick his head out the Impala's window to see it at all in the driving rain. The path leading to the gray asylum was dirt, and would be a bitch to traverse in the storm. Some parts of it were underwater.

The eye of this storm was unlike any Sam had ever heard about. There was no calm. Instead of a relatively peaceful eye, the winds and rain seemed to be worse there. It was similar to the storm in Gatlinburg in that respect, but much more powerful. He wondered if that was because this portal had been open longer.

The building itself looked a little too small to be any kind of mental hospital he had ever seen—and far too small to hold the interior spaces he'd seen in his visions. It resembled more a storage building or office. "You think this is the right place?"

Beside him, Bobby frowned. "Well, I can't really _see _much of it, but this is the center of the storm."

"Doesn't seem big enough," Sam murmured, voicing his confusion.

"I dunno." Bobby glanced over his shoulder, out the rear windows, and shrugged. "Maybe there was more to it when it was an asylum. More buildings, I mean. But you know...some of it could be underground."

"Really?"

"Sure. Put the locals at ease. We passed a bunch of old houses out here, and I'm sure they didn't like the idea of an asylum being nearby. So, build a normal looking building up top and put all the ugly stuff in basements."

Sam grunted. _Makes sense_. That would explain why the inside had looked so elaborate. "All right. Well, how do you want to do this?"

"We should wait until Ellen gets here," Bobby cautioned. He'd finally gotten her on his cell during the trip down. She was a day behind them, having made it to New York the night before. Bobby was right. Sam conceded that they weren't exactly in fighting condition after more than twenty-four hours cooped up in the Impala, but he couldn't bear the thought of waiting any longer.

"No."

"Sam—"

"Bobby!" Sam cut him off, voice cracking with desperation. It was killing him to wait this long. Dean and Sarah were at that demon's mercy, and Sam kept running into delays. He turned to the other hunter, eyes imploring him to understand. "I…I understand what you're saying, but I—" He couldn't voice the emotions running through him at that moment.

Bobby seemed to read it in his face, though. "Okay. You're right. Besides, we don't want to give that demon any more time than we already have."

Sam nodded, taking the olive branch for what it was. He turned back to look at the asylum through the pounding rain and wind. _I'm almost there, bro. Hang on_.

He pointed behind them at a distant farmhouse to their right. Its driveway branched off where the main road ended. An open, metal gate guarded the entrance. "Everyone's been moved out, supposedly. According to the map, there's a place right over there, looks like a house in the satellite view. We'll stash the car out of sight, then move in. If we get into trouble, we can fall back to the house."

Bobby glanced at the monsoon outside the car's windshield. "Great plan."

**SPNSPN**

The small house Sam had spotted was about five hundred feet away at the end of a side road branching off the main one. The design was simplistic, really just a block with a slanted aluminum roof slapped on top. An open-sided steel car shed sat across the gravel parking area, which normally would have allowed for some protection from the elements. In the howling winds and sideways driving rain, though, it didn't really help much.

Sam climbed out of the Impala, moved to the trunk, then started gathering his weapons and packing supplies into his backpack. He moved quickly, but the rain was already soaking through his clothes. The wind plastered his hair against his face.

On the trip down and before he'd fallen asleep, he'd thought a lot about what the next step was. On the one hand, it was simple: save Dean. But Sam wasn't so foolish to think it was going to be easy or simple. From what they'd learned, Mullin wanted Sam to agree to lead his new army, and was more than willing to use Dean and Sarah to make him say yes.

_Yes_ was something he couldn't be allowed to say.

With that in mind, Sam reached into the bag and withdrew the Colt. He looked up to see Bobby stuffing salt rounds into his bag and held it out, handle first. "Here."

"What—?" Bobby looked at him oddly, taking hold of the weapon. "You might need this."

Sam smiled faintly, shaking his head. The image of Dean from his vision floated to the front of his mind. "I saw Dean lying there, dead from a bullet wound. You think I could do that? To Dean _or_ Sarah? I can't let that happen. I can't bring that gun in with me."

Bobby pointed to the sawed-off shotgun sticking out of Sam's backpack. "You don't call that a gun?"

"It's only got salt rounds. Even at close range, it won't be lethal. And the wound in the vision was definitely from a bullet."

"Mullin might not be alone in there. You said yourself, he's had other demons with him before."

"I have Ruby's knife." Which he had no intention of using against Dean or Sarah, either. Mullin held all the cards in this game.

Bobby opened his mouth, then closed it again, squinting against the hammering rain. Sam knew any arguments Bobby could muster would be a waste of time, and the older man knew it, too. Sam wouldn't point a gun at Dean now, not even as a bluff, and the danger of Mullin getting hold of the Colt was unacceptable. If Sam carried it in, he might as well hand it over to the demon.

"Well…" Bobby sighed, looking in the direction of the distant asylum over the top of the car. "I've been thinking about all this. We're walking into a building we know next to nothing about, with a demon likely waiting for us."

"We have hex bags to hide us from him. That'll have to be enough." Sam and Bobby had made them during Sam's first few days in the hospital, using Ruby's instructions. The bags hid their presence from most demons. Given what had gone down in the catacombs beneath Immaculate Heart of Mary, it had seemed like a good idea.

"Might not _be_ enough."

"You have any better ideas?" Sam asked flatly, organizing his supplies. _Salt? Check. Holy water? Check. No clue how to pull this off? Check_.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do."

**SPNSPN**

However punishing the wind and rain looked from inside the Impala, it was ten times worse outside in the open. Sam had to keep one hand on his backpack to keep it on his shoulder, and one by his face to shield his eyes. Even then, he could only focus on the ground up to ten feet in front of him.

The temperature had plummeted since they'd arrived, and what had been a very out-of-season hurricane was growing more bizarre. Sleet was mixed in with the rain, and some of the puddles and flooded areas by the road were beginning to turn to slush.

"Welcome to summer in San Antonio," Sam muttered to himself. At least the chill had woken him up. He'd spent half the ride down from New York doped up on painkillers. His head seemed better, too. The world wasn't spinning wildly anymore.

"_What_?" came the shout from behind him.

He half-turned, mindful not to twist his ribcage too much. "Nothin'. You okay?"

"Fine! Just fine! If I catch pneumonia from this, I'm blaming you, boy!"

Sam grinned, returning to his miserable, sodden trek to the roadside. They were about four hundred feet out from the house, and another hundred from the road. The asylum was another three hundred or so feet on the other side. They were moving along the trees on the east side of the driveway, hoping to minimize the time they'd be out in the open and easily spotted.

They finally reached the road, and Sam knelt behind a small bush next to the gatepost. There was only a thin patch of shrubbery between them and their target, but Sam was counting on the rain blinding anyone in the building, just as it had them back at the house. He hoped, anyway.

"Well, at least no one inside will be able to see us coming," Bobby said beside him, putting voice to the same thought.

"Maybe we should circle around," Sam said, pointing to the large, treelined field behind the building. The trees formed a rough circle, ending at the opposite side of the asylum from them. "We can use the trees for cover."

Bobby shook his head. "No. We don't really know what the terrain's like. Probably muddy as hell back there."

Grunting, Sam decided his friend was probably right. On a normal day, they might have made it, but the whole area had been pummeled with rain for almost three weeks. Even the ground beneath their feet was more water than dirt. Their clothes were caked in mud just from the short distance they'd walked. Had there not been a slight incline to the road, it would likely have been underwater by then.

"All right, let's move." Sam rose to a crouch and started across the road. A deafening thunderclap struck overhead, loud enough to rattle the very asphalt beneath his boots. _Not a promising start_.

They were already waterlogged and freezing, and it was worse as they moved across the road and through the underbrush surrounding the asylum. Their feet sank into mud as they moved, and wet, half-frozen branches whipped with the howling wind, stinging their hands and faces. Sam was more than ready to get out of the elements by the time they reached the covered front door.

They stopped just beside the steps leading in, at the edge of the overhang and out of direct view from any windows or doors. It was there that they were to part company. The satellite photo had shown an old fire escape that had apparently been tacked on to the north side of the building at some point in its long history. Bobby was heading there. He'd enter from the roof, Sam from the ground floor. With any luck, the two-pronged attack would ensure that at least one of them reached Dean.

"You got everything you need?" Sam asked, peeking around the brick corner to the doors just a few feet away. He saw no one, just the door banging in the wind and broken glass from the shattered windows on either side.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Speakerphone."

Sam nodded, switching his phone on, muting it, and clipping it to the front of his belt, where he hoped it would be inconspicuous enough. Bobby would be able to hear if Sam ran into any trouble.

"You gonna to be okay?"

The question caught him off guard. It was the furthest thing from his mind at that moment. Sam shrugged. It really didn't matter if he was okay or not. He had one mission: save Dean and free Sarah, and it was time to get going. "I'll see you inside."

Whether Bobby took that as a yes or no, Sam didn't know; the older man simply nodded and headed down the front of the building, looking for the fire escape. Sam watched him for a few seconds, then turned the corner and moved to the door. The weather finally cut them a break. The door was blowing open and banging closed every few moments, buffeted by wind eddies under the overhang. Sam slipped through the door and inside as it opened, the noise blotting out any sound of his entrance.

Inside, the building was just like the one in his vision, except…not. There weren't any bodies, for one, but also, this asylum was never used as a safe house against demons. It had stood abandoned for years, decades maybe. On a dry summer day, he imagined it would be filled with cobwebs and dust, and stale, suffocating hot air.

After three weeks of thunderstorms and hurricanes, it was damp, musty, and cold. The stagnant air inside had been renewed a bit by the wind penetrating broken windows and doors. It was still dark, though, and more than creepy. Sam could feel an almost electric hum in the air, a presence—nothing specific, no one individual or demon, just _something_. He wondered if his psychic thing was kicking in.

Shaking off the feelings of dread, Sam raised his sawed off and moved forward. The walls had deteriorated over the years, leaving yawning gaps, allowing him to see through the exposed wooden slats into several rooms. He had to sidestep more than one large hole in the tiled floor. Sam glanced up at the cracked ceilings, noting that they were about ten feet high. Rusted fire sprinklers dotted the tiles, interspersed among water stains and patches of mildew. _Good. One of Bobby's ideas might work out_.

"Sprinklers, check." He spoke quietly. It wasn't ideal, sending Bobby messages without knowing if they were received, but then, the whole hunt wasn't ideal.

To his left, the walls were open enough so he could see clearly into them. He wouldn't have to search in that direction. Sam turned a corner onto a long hallway to his right. Most of the doors were open, so searching them wouldn't be too difficult. The wind outside howled through broken windows and holes, the sound giving him some cover. With any luck, Bobby's entrance would be equally protected. The plan they'd cooked up smacked of desperation, but it was all they could manage under the circumstances. Sam hoped it would be enough.

All the rooms along the hall were empty, as Sam had figured they would be. He was going more by what he'd seen in his visions than by what he was seeing now as he crept through the dilapidated building. He'd seen stairs, and rooms that looked dank and enclosed—more like basements than what stood above ground. It made sense. Mullin's last portal had been in a basement.

He reached a stairwell at the end of the hall and said softly, "Ground floor clear."

Sam paused and withdrew a carton from his bag, laid a line of salt at the threshold, then crept slowly through the open doorway. He glanced up the stairs, briefly considering clearing the second floor, but his visions had shown him the basement, and they'd rarely been wrong in the past.

He had to stop and think about that. _Actually, I don't think they've _ever_ been wrong_.

Taking a breath to clear his head, Sam leveled his shotgun and started down. The steps creaked under his weight and he froze, casting a cautious look down. No movement. Sam edged closer to the wall, where hopefully the wood was stronger, and descended even slower. He kept alert for any sounds, and glanced behind and above him every few seconds.

He reached the bottom and dropped to a crouch by the exit. A quick look into the hall showed more open doors, though these were different. Each had a barred window and a lower slot that Sam assumed was to pass food through. The ceiling was tile, like above. The building had obviously been renovated in the twentieth century. More sprinkler heads dotted the tiles.

"Stairwell, clear." He poured another line of salt to secure the stairwell. _So far, so good_.

Unlike the ground floor, which had been a simple hallway with rooms on either side, the basement was a veritable labyrinth. The rooms—obviously old padded cells—were arranged in blocks, and the corridors formed squares around them. The floor area was easily twice the size of the upstairs. Most of the asylum was indeed underground, as Bobby had suspected.

Small, ground-level windows provided barely adequate illumination, just enough so Sam wouldn't need his flashlight. Unfortunately, the low light, unadorned, dilapidated walls, and rows of doors made each corridor look identical to the next, and Sam had to concentrate to keep from getting turned around.

The constant, dull roar of wind from above didn't help his nerves any. It was already too similar to one of Dean's horror movies for his taste. Any moment, the monster could leap out at him from a shadowy corner. Sam shook the images out of his head. The asylum was creepy enough without letting his imagination run wild.

He retreated back to the stairwell, considering his actions. The edge of his boot heel hit something, and he looked down to find a white plastic square about the size of a book. He cautiously picked it up and flipped it over. It was a floor plan, similar to the fire escape route signs seen in most public buildings. A stroke of luck. Maybe someone Upstairs was looking out for him.

The floor map showed the blocks of rooms and the halls connecting them. Not too different from a modern hospital. There were two blocks of rooms immediately in front of him, and two more on the other side of a fairly large, square area. A common room, maybe. Beyond that lay another large room that spanned the basement, with a smaller room attached at the north end of the building, in the direction of the fire escape Bobby had entered through. Judging by the size of the basement so far, he guessed that that end was beneath the large open field he'd seen on the map. There were probably air vents out there.

Something about the layout of those last two rooms drew Sam's attention. He stared at the map, trying to dredge up the images from his vision. _Yeah_… That last, smaller room was where the new portal would be, he was certain of it.

At least now he had a direction to move in. He tucked the map into his backpack and stepped back into the corridor.

Sam checked all the rooms in the block closest to the stairs, finding little except a few ratty old cots and some cardboard boxes filled with faded paper. He stepped back into the hallway, looking each way with a frown. "This is taking too long," he muttered softly to himself. _I really want a drink_.

_A grieving drunk wasn't going to do us much good_…

Mullin's words rang in his ears. Bobby had said similar things to him over the past month. Maybe he had spent too much time in a bottle the past year. Thinking about that wasn't going to help his brother, so Sam suppressed the urge and focused on the task at hand. He'd have to deal with his apparent alcoholism later.

He needed a way to scout out those farthest rooms—where he suspected Dean might be—without weaving through all the empty rooms, halls, and any possible booby traps Mullin had waiting in between. Sam pulled the map out and brushed some of the dirt off. _Hmm_.

Running on either side of the basement were what looked like narrow passageways. From the drawing, they seemed to be right behind the wall of the corridor. An entrance appeared to be in the stairwell. Sam walked back there and shined his flashlight along the wall. Sure enough, he found a crack—a removable panel, five feet high and three feet wide. The panel was metal, and whatever handle there might once have been seemed to have been burned off. Probably to keep trespassers from getting into the crawlways after the place was shut down.

Using his knife, a scrap of wood from the floor, and some old-fashioned brute strength, Sam pried the panel open. It popped too loudly for his comfort as it came free, and Sam glanced around the corner. Nothing moved in the hallway. Hopefully, the wind had masked the sound.

He poked his head inside, brushing cobwebs out of the way. His flashlight revealed a narrow service crawlway crossed by pipes, electrical cable, and the occasional support beam, which made the small space even more claustrophobic. Light entered from outside by a series of air vents, spaced roughly twenty feet apart. It appeared to run a considerable distance, however, which was exactly what Sam needed. According to the map, it should go all the way down to the far rooms. _Time for some recon_.

It was tall enough for him to walk upright, but there wouldn't be room inside for his bulky backpack, so Sam placed it by the entrance, taking only his shotgun and a fresh carton of salt. Cracks and gaps in the drywall allowed him to see into the hallway, but would also allow anyone else in the basement to hear him, so he took his time and proceeded stealthily. No need to alert Dean's captor.

Mostly, he found empty halls and long-deserted rooms. True to the floor plan, he saw the large common area near the center of the basement. It had four entrances, one at each corner, and a semienclosed desk area. There were two or three old tables, but no other furniture. A few wadded up sheets or curtains were piled by the desk. It would make a good place for a trap. Making note of it, Sam moved on through the crawlspace.

The trek was long and uncomfortable. Low hanging wires and pipes forced Sam to crouch for long periods, and the tight spaces near the support beams placed a little too much pressure on his chest. His ribs were beginning to ache again from the cold and all the exercise. He stopped by one beam to catch his breath. _When this is over and I get Dean back, I'm going to sleep for a year_.

Finally, he neared the other end of the basement. He slowed, making extra effort to be silent. Sam reached the large, open room, and edged along the passage until he was just inside the door. He peered through an exposed wooden slat in the wall.

Most of the room was empty, though Sam noted a large table had been converted into some kind of workspace. Candles added more light to the dim surroundings. A large pentagram adorned the floor, drawn in chalk and outlined in blood. It had the same markings as the one in Gatlinburg. Sam craned his neck closer to the slat, and could see the swirling, angry-looking vortex in the next room. It was larger than the one Sam had gone through, pulsing with energy. He could feel vibrations in the wall and the floor beneath him, in time with the flashes of the vortex.

It still reminded him of that storm in the time travel movie Dean and he had watched as kids.

Sam scanned the room until his eyes fell on his brother. Dean lay huddled along the far wall. Mullin had apparently taken the time to dress him in a plain t-shirt and shorts. He looked a great deal better than when he'd first been brought from Hell, naked, in the cavern in New York. Dean had his dignity this time, at least.

Dean was staring at something or someone on the far side of the room. As Sam watched, Sarah walked out into his line of sight, moving toward Dean. Mullin was almost certainly still possessing her, though her eyes were turned away where he couldn't see. She knelt in front of Dean, hand reaching out to stroke his face. Dean shrank back from her with a terrified expression when she spoke.

It took all of Sam's self control to not break the thin wall down and race to defend his brother. But such an act, no matter how satisfying or tempting, wouldn't help either Dean or Sarah, and would likely get them all killed, or worse. He turned, sliding back away from the hole and venting his frustration on an old iron pipe, gripping it hard enough to hurt his fingers. _Keep it together, Sam_.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, calming himself. When he was able, he moved back into place and observed. Sarah moved away from Dean, leaving him shivering in the corner. Sam watched her step over to the worktable, then turn and move into the other room. She stepped up to the blue-white vortex, then leapt forward. The flash of light that followed forced Sam to shield his eyes.

When his vision cleared, Sarah was gone.

Dean didn't move, just stayed in the corner, curled into a ball. Sam almost called out to him, but his eyes were drawn back to the vortex. For the first time, Bobby's "big picture" dawned on him.

It wasn't just about saving Dean, or freeing Sarah. Hell, it wasn't even about Sam, though he had a big part in the problem.

Mullin wanted to bring Samuel's bloodthirsty—victorious—army into this world and go head to head with Lilith and her demons. A demonic civil war. The world wouldn't survive that. Whichever side won the conflict, humanity would lose, either to Lilith's slow progress, or Samuel's troops' vast experience in weaving destruction.

Mullin had to be stopped and his portal closed. Sam couldn't put Dean first. After all he'd been through trying to get his brother out of Hell and returned safe…Sam had to set that aside.

Taking one last look to make sure Dean was all right, physically at least, Sam turned and began moving back along the crawlspace. He moved as quickly as he could this time, not knowing how long he had before Mullin returned from the other side.

He mentally inventoried what he had in his backpack while he moved, and by the time he emerged from the service tunnel, he had the bones of a plan. Sam grabbed his backpack from the floor and bolted down the corridor.

It was somewhat careless not to search all the rooms he was passing, but Sam stopped at every hallway intersection and scattered salt. That would at least slow down any demons that might be lurking, and it was better than nothing.

"Bobby?" Sam thumbed off the mute and the speaker and pressed the phone to his ear. "Can you find the valves that control the sprinklers?"

"_I think so_," Bobby replied quietly. "_You thinking what I think you're thinking?_"

"Yeah, I think so." Sam grinned.

"_All right, give me a few minutes_."

"Just a few, Bobby. Work fast." Sam set the phone to vibrate and placed it in his back pocket, out of the way. He shouldn't need it again until he had carried out his plan.

When Sam reached the common area in the center of the floor, he crossed over and dropped his bag on the desk. He pulled out the last two cartons of salt and two cans of red, fast-drying spray paint.

He rummaged through the piles of sheets and trash stashed by the desk until he found two large, square sheets that weren't too tattered. They were worn, but still thick enough to conceal anything beneath them from view. "These oughta work..."

Moving swiftly, Sam went back to the other side of the room—nearest the crawlspace he'd used—and began painting. He sprayed a devil's trap about ten feet across. The paint almost ran out before he finished all the sigils, but he just made it.

While that dried, he ran back to the desk and grabbed the salt cartons. He laid thick lines across the two entrances there, and then along the entrance he'd come through. That left one hallway, the one he'd scouted from inside the wall, a straight shot to the room where Dean was being held. The trap was sitting right in front of that entrance.

Sam took the two sheets and spread them over the circle, concealing it. He grabbed some loose cardboard boxes and a few splinters of wood and laid them along the edges, making it look more like a work area and less what it was. The trick would be keeping Mullin's attention on him and not the floor. Next came his mostly empty backpack, which he set near the edge of the circle farthest from the open hall. He grabbed his phone and spoke quietly. "I've got a trap set in the center of the basement, Bobby. I'll let you know when I have the demon, and you can come down. I might need help with Dean and Sarah."

_I hope I have everything_. Sam looked around the room. Planning traps on the fly was a good way to get himself killed, but he had little choice. Sam retrieved his shotgun from the desk, and stepped back toward his bag and the trap. He absently rubbed his side. All the exercise was beginning to make itself known in his ribs. The building ache was manageable, though, for the moment.

He pulled the hex bag that masked his presence from his jacket pocket, and held a lighter in the other. He lit the bag and tossed it across the room. The fire consumed the contents rapidly, leaving Sam exposed to the demon's senses. He stepped over and knelt by his bag, pretending to rifle through it, looking for something. The shotgun was placed strategically within reach on the floor.

Keeping up the charade wasn't too difficult, though it wore on Sam's nerves. He wanted nothing else but to bust in, grab Dean, and run…but he couldn't leave Mullin here to carry out his plans, so a hit-and-run was out of the question.

Fortunately, Sam didn't have to wait long. Mere minutes after the hex bag burned up, a stiff breeze blew through the room, rustling scraps of paper on the floor, and then there was the soft scrape of a shoe on the concrete. He did his best to look startled when his head snapped up. Sarah—Mullin, Sam reminded himself—stood at the entrance.

"Well…I thought I smelled something," Mullin sneered. "A tormented soul with a dash of guilty conscience and just a _touch_ of demonic taint…tasty." Mullin raked Sarah's possessed gaze over Sam, licking her lips. "Not the only thing that's tasty, either, I bet."

Sam grimaced. As far as he could tell, Mullin was a male demon, if there was such a thing. The thought of him inside Sarah's body looking at him with _that_ look in her eyes… He didn't even want to explore that line of thought. Then again, some of the demons he'd met were the definition of depraved.

He made a show of scrambling for his shotgun and rising to his feet. "Stay where you are," Sam ordered, aiming the shotgun at the demon.

Mullin ignored him, as expected, strolling slowly forward. Sam kept his gaze squarely on Sarah' black eyes, giving away nothing. He stepped back as in retreat. The demon continued his smug advance. _Just a few more feet_.

"I'm glad you're here, Sam. I knew you'd come."

"Let Sarah go and take me to Dean."

Mullin smiled. It sickened Sam to see Sarah's face on that monstrosity. "In time. Patience, Sam."

"I've been patient enough!" Sam spat, not having to fake the crack in his voice. The next few minutes would probably decide his fate and everyone else's. Mullin had reached the center of the sheets. Sam stopped moving back.

"So much anger," Mullin cooed, still strolling forward casually. "That's good. You'll need that. A leader needs an edge."

"I'm not going to do what you want, Mullin."

"What makes you think you haven't alrea—" The demon broke off, lurching back as if hitting an invisible wall. He looked to the left and right, confused, then frowned as he looked down. He crouched and grabbed the sheet, yanking it back to reveal the painted trap beneath. Mullin snapped Sarah's head up to glare at him. "_Cute_, Sam." He stood and ripped the sheet away, then moved the other to look at the entire trap. Whistling softly, he turned back to Sam. "Nice artwork. You do this from memory?"

Sam lowered the shotgun, snarling at the caged demon. "I'm sending you back to Hell, you son of a bitch."

A laugh was the response. Mullin spread his hands in surrender. "You got me, kid. Fair and square. Sam one, Mullin zero. But, uh…before this goes too far, I think you might want to consider your friend's safety."

"What?"

"Your friend. The one you've been talking to on the phone."

Sam just stared for a moment, trying not to give away the sudden panic that seized his mind. If Bobby had run into another demon… They'd been counting on surprise to keep Mullin off guard.

The demon seemed to read through Sam's poker face. "Did you really think I wouldn't have an associate or two here helping me? You think I'd go head to head with the great Sam Winchester all by myself?"

With a snort of derision, Sam shook his head. "You're lying." He sure as hell hoped so. Sam calmed himself, reasoning that he'd just spoken to Bobby, and everything had been fine.

Mullin didn't stop smiling. "Your voices are pathetically easy to mimic, you know? Especially on a cell with a weak signal."

_Enough_. Sam didn't know if Mullin was lying or not, but he was ending the stalemate. He took a deep breath and started an exorcism. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, et secta diabolica…"

Sarah's head jerked at the words, and Sam could hear a deep rumble in her chest. The demon was affected. Or so Sam thought.

Mullin cackled like Sam had told the world's funniest joke.

Sam paused his recitation, staring at the possessed woman in confusion. It was unnerving to see Sarah with such a patronizing sneer on her face.

"All right. You want to play this game, let's play." Mullin began his own Latin incantation. "Spiritus in mundus un glorum suarum umitite palatum iram domine…" The room began to vibrate, and a sudden gust of wind erupted around them, sending dust and loose papers flying. Mullin suddenly ended the spell with a roar, and slammed a fist into the floor right in the center of the devil's trap.

Sam heard the bones in Sarah's hand snap. He had no time to react as the floor cracked open and a wave of Hellfire shot out along the lines of the circular trap. The floor split, severing the circle, the shockwave flinging Sam backward into the wall behind him. He cried out as his ribcage absorbed the impact, then slid down the wall with a pained groan.

With the trap broken, Mullin stepped forward, smirking as Sam tried to regain his feet. "You really thought it would be that easy, boy? I'm disappointed. Do you know how many centuries I've walked this miserable planet? I picked up more than one trick along the way. That account you read of the last time I was exorcised? It probably didn't tell you that I took three of those hunters with me."

Sam pushed himself upright, using the wall for guidance and leaning on his shotgun while Mullin monologued. This demon certainly enjoyed the sound of his own voice. He glanced up, noting where he was in the room.

"It's time to stop screwing around, Sam. You're going to do what I say, or your brother, your friend, and this pretty little thing I'm wearing are all going to die. Slow. Understand?"

Biting his lip, Sam nodded, holding up his free hand as though to placate the furious demon. "Can I…can I ask you a question first?"

"Make it brief."

Sam nodded again, taking a deep breath. "When was the last time you had a shower?"

Without waiting for a reply, Sam swung his sawed-off up in a wide arc. The muzzle slammed into a sprinkler head directly above them, shattering the ancient glass bulb inside. An uncomfortably uncertain few seconds passed before water exploded from the broken nozzle, raining down on both of them.

Mullin was caught by surprise—all the proof Sam needed that Bobby was okay, despite the demon's lies—and steam began to rise from Sarah's neck and hands as the sanctified water drenched her. Sam didn't wait. He broke two more sprinkler heads with the shotgun, surrounding the demon in the spray. The third swing shifted his ribs, and he cried out, doubling over before he could suppress the pain enough to swing the gun back around on the screeching demon.

Sam didn't want to fire. Even though the shotgun was loaded with salt, the blast might seriously injure Sarah at that range. Unfortunately, he had no choice. Mullin had to be incapacitated.

Before Sam's finger could act on the trigger, though, Sarah's head flew back and a volcanic plume of black smoke and sizzling energy blasted upward. The inhuman scream continued as the demon struggled to free itself from her and get out of the deluge of holy water. The living cloud gathered itself and took off down the hall, back toward Dean and the portal.

Sarah collapsed like a discarded marionette.

Sam raced to her side. "Sarah? Hey!" He found a strong pulse, but she was out cold. He checked her over, finding no grievous wounds. _Small favors_…. He had to go after Mullin. Sam had a small anti-possession charm in his bag, just in case, and placed it around Sarah's neck to keep her safe. Like Sam, Dean had an anti-possession tattoo on his chest, and the other hallways were blocked by salt lines, but Sam didn't know if the demon had any other prisoners squirreled away in the rest of the rooms.

Sam reached for his phone, intending to summon Bobby, but found it in pieces in his back pocket. Apparently, it had taken part of the brunt of his meeting with the wall. "Damn it!"

With no more time to wait, Sam left Sarah where she lay and took off down the corridor. He wasn't sure how much Mullin could do in his natural form, but hopefully freeing Sarah had bought them all a few minutes.

Shotgun in front of him, Sam dashed toward the north end of the basement, where his vision had shown him the vortex and Dean. He left the salt behind in the common room, but between his gun and Ruby's knife sheathed on his belt, he ought to have enough to take Mullin out.

None of the rooms he passed seemed to be occupied, which was good. Most of the doors were shut or barred. Sighting the large room ahead, Sam slowed, keeping his weapon out in front. He could see the flickering bluish glow of the vortex on the walls and floor in the dim light.

Edging along one wall, Sam inched forward until he reached the open door. He craned his head, but saw no one. Crouching, he advanced through the door, scanning the room. No demon. No other possessed humans.

No Dean.

Surprise warred with alarm as Sam did a double-take, scanning the room again. With growing dread, he chanced calling out in the quiet room. "Dean?"

There was a sudden pressure on the back of his neck and shoulder, and the next thing Sam was aware of was being spun around, and the concrete wall racing toward his face before darkness claimed him.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_All right now…don't panic. LOL_

**Chapter 4**

Pain.

The first thing to penetrate the comfortable cocoon of numbness Sam floated in was an intense, throbbing pain that grew worse with each heartbeat. He shifted, trying to gather his thoughts and block out the sensation.

His face seemed to be on fire. When he scrunched his nose, he regretted it, as the focal point of the fiery agony shifted from his cheek to his obviously broken nose. Sam dared to force his eyes open, only to have them try to roll back in his head. Squeezing them shut, he focused on getting his other senses online.

He couldn't smell anything past the blood that was caked on his upper lip and right cheek. A faint ringing in his ears made it hard to focus on hearing. When he tried to move his hands, he found them tied together behind him. His ankles were similarly bound. Cold seeped through his clothes along his right flank, and the hard substance beneath his pulsating face finally clicked.

Floor.

He was lying on his side on the floor, tied up like the barbequed pig he'd once seen at a party at Jefferson's house when he was fifteen. The party that had given his older brother the ingenious idea of practicing to get out of ropes by hogtying his little brother every chance he got. Sam had spent the summer at the mercy of his practical joker of a sibling until Dad had finally intervened. He wished now that he'd played along. Of course, he felt that way about a lot of things after Dean had died.

Sam opened his mouth to take a breath, and a low moan escaped.

"I can't believe how much of a pain in the ass you are."

The voice came from behind him, jarring Sam fully awake. The voice was also painfully familiar. "Dean?"

"Try again."

The cold of the floor seemed to shoot down Sam's spine. "Mullin." Sam turned, flopping over onto his back, which did nothing to help the discomfort of his tightly bound hands, but he had to see for himself. His brother stood over him, beetle-black eyes peering at him with a malevolent glint.

"I have a mind to break every bone in your body, Sam."

Mullin sounded like he fully intended to do just that, but Sam was too enveloped in shock to care. He eyed Dean closely, shaking his head slowly. "S'impossible. You can't posses him…."

The demon smiled condescendingly. "Oh, because of your matching tattoos?" He pulled the collar of Dean's t-shirt down, revealing the tattoo on his upper chest. It had been marred with a long burn, vaguely resembling a knife blade. "Seems your bro had an unfortunate run-in with a hot surface right after I brought him here. But don't worry, I'm sure he can get another tat."

Fury darkened the edges of Sam's vision. "You mother—!" His diatribe was cut short when Dean's bare foot slammed into his ribs, sending a wave of agony through Sam's torso and forcing a scream out of him.

"Watch your mouth, boy."

Sam seethed impotently, rolling back on his right side and struggling for breath. "I'm—I'm gonna—kill you!"

Mullin sauntered around into Sam's line of sight. "Without harming this fine packaging? I don't see how. Shoot me, stab me, I don't care. I can always get a new ride. Can you get a new brother?"

Finding it hard to see Dean like this, Sam looked away, searching the room for something he might use. His eyes settled on the doorway, and he wondered how long he'd been out. It would be an excellent time for Bobby to come through that door.

"If you're waiting for your friend, don't bother. He's dead." Mullin crouched, turned Sam's chin so that they were looking eye to eye again. "My associates had a good time tearing his limbs off. Nope, I have you all to myself."

Sam glared up at him, summoning his strength and growling at him. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immune—"

His attempt was cut off when Dean's foot kicked him in the stomach. He couldn't react in time to brace himself. Sam felt himself lifted like a rag doll, then collide with another wall. Dean's hand was around his throat, cutting off his air completely.

"Let's be clear," Mullin rumbled in his ear in Dean's voice. "You so much as whisper another word of Latin, and I'll make Dean pluck his left eye out. I only need _one_ to see. We clear?"

Sam glared at him, struggling to get air, but simply nodded. He couldn't risk Mullin hurting Dean any more than he seemed to have already.

Mullin grinned sadistically, lessening the pressure on Sam's throat just enough for him to draw air. "Good boy."

The room was spinning, and Sam knew he had another concussion to add to the list of injuries he'd sustained in the past month. If he survived this confrontation—which didn't seem all that likely at the moment—the docs would never give him his AMA papers.

"Now, I'm through screwing around with you. Your army is waiting on the other side, ready to bust into this world and stake their rightful claim. But they need their general, and that's _you_. You're going to come with us, willingly, and once we get you fully…trained, you'll kill Lilith and we can get this show back on track."

Sam swallowed around the grip on his neck. "I'll never agree to that, and you know it."

Mullin's grin grew predatory. He reached down with his free hand and slid a long knife out of a sheath at Dean's waist. From the shape, it was the same one that had been used to burn the tattoo on his chest. In a deliberate motion for Sam's benefit, he raised the blade to Dean's neck and pressed in, immediately drawing blood, and began to slide the knife across his neck.

"_Stop!_" Sam struggled helplessly in Mullin's grasp, blind terror blotting out all rational thought. Dean was going to die right in front of him. Again. "_Please!_"

Mullin halted the knife. Blood wept slowly from the cut. "I have no problem killing him, Sam. What's your decision?"

Sam looked away, tears welling in his eyes. He thought of all the months he'd grieved for his brother, all the horror he'd seen in the other world, wrought by a version of himself that had lost his humanity. He thought of his Dean, and Bobby, and Sarah, and that other Dean and Sarah, and knew he couldn't save any of them. He'd failed everyone he'd ever loved in _two_ universes. Now, he faced an impossible choice: save Dean by giving himself over to the destiny the Yellow-Eyed Demon had planned for him, destroying everything…or refuse, and watch his brother die inches from him as surely as if he'd cut that throat with his own hand.

Dean's death had gutted him the first time. Sam Winchester had died that night when the hellhounds came. Dean had sold his soul to bring Sam back from the dead. Sam now had to forfeit his to bring Dean back from that fate. Symmetry.

Looking into his brother's face, even possessed, Sam knew the choice was no choice at all. It was one thing to stand by helplessly and watch, but it was another to sign Dean's death warrant himself. He couldn't.

Yellow Eyes would win after all. The world would burn. Sam would be damned.

But Dean would live. He'd have a chance.

Sam choked back a sob and nodded, sagging in final defeat.

Mullin lowered the knife and let Sam go, patting his shoulder in approval. "I knew you'd make the right choice, Samuel. Now, there's one last ritual to perform, and then we can bring them through the gateway all at once. Don't be afraid, you remember how this works."

Without further warning, Mullin jammed the knife into Sam's shoulder. Sam screamed, a wave of agony expanding into his chest and down his arm. Unbelievably, the blade hurt worse coming out, and that pain sent him to his knees.

"Let's make your troops feel at home, shall we?" Mullin reached down and yanked the bandage off Sam's face, revealing the long cut he'd given Sam in the catacombs more than a week earlier. The one just like Samuel's from the other side.

Sam would have laughed at that if he'd had the strength. Symmetry.

The demon pulled Dean's mouth back in a toothy grin. "Showtime."

He stepped away, turning back to the pentagram on the floor in front of the portal, and held the knife out. Sam's blood dripped onto one of the sigils while Mullin began reciting something in Latin.

The world seemed to slow down for Sam, his vision tunneling as he watched Mullin inside Dean, weaving his black magic. The wet spot on his shoulder grew, and the room got colder and spun faster. Sam lost his battle with gravity, and fell face first to the floor. His eyes began to drift shut, stopping only when he heard a metallic click to his right.

"Next time send a bigger demon if you expect to stop me."

Sam's eyes blinked open at the sound of Bobby's tired voice. He managed to turn his head in time to see his friend's bloodied and bruised face, and then the Colt in Bobby's hand as a flash of fire erupted from the barrel.

The enchanted bullet caught Mullin—Dean—in the chest, abruptly silencing the demon and ending the ritual prematurely. Sam dragged his head back in time to see Dean's body drop, orange energy flashing from inside, lighting his eyes and mouth in a hideous fireworks display.

His brother's body collapsed to the floor, blood pooling under his shirt. Just as Sam had foreseen it. Dean landed on his back, eyes open, staring at nothing. _No_…_no, no, no!_

Sam struggled to keep his eyes on his brother. Bobby moved into his field of vision, kneeling over Dean, then turning and doing something near the magic circle on the floor.

Beyond Dean, the vortex rippled, then began to flash like a strobe, lightning crackling along its edges and shooting out to tear into the walls. It abruptly shrank, and for a moment, Sam could have sworn he heard a multitude of screams in the distance, but that couldn't be right. Bobby was the only one in the room still standing. Sam was in no condition to scream. And Dean was dead. He clearly wasn't screaming, so it must have been Sam's imagination.

The vortex twisted and seemed to pull at the room before finally exploding outward with a blinding light and a roar that shook the floor. Then it was gone. The smaller side room stood empty, like nothing had been there.

Letting the crushing grief and the agony pulsing through his body push him toward blissful darkness, Sam sobbed. Dean was dead. Sam had failed him for a second time—or maybe a third, since he'd failed more than one Dean already.

He distantly felt his wrists and ankles fall free, and a set of hands roll him over onto his back. Bobby. Vaguely, he heard words, but couldn't understand them. Something about _alive_, _Sarah_, _911_, _National Guard,_ and _medevac_…but none of it mattered, because Dean was gone, and if there was any kind of God at all, Sam would bleed out from the knife wound and not wake up this time.

The last thought he had was that he'd rarely been that lucky in his life. Then the blackness swallowed him.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Sam became aware of two things when his eyes opened. First, he was alive—which, as his brain slowly came back online and his memories returned, he realized wasn't all that great a thing—and second, all he could see was Bobby's grim face.

He drew back and got a clearer look when his eyes focused. Bobby had a black eye, and two bandaged cuts, one above his right eye and the other lower on his cheek. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a cinder block.

"You with us, kid?" Bobby's voice sounded strained, exhausted.

Until his status had been questioned, Sam had been able to comfortably ignore his body. But Bobby's inquiry brought it to the forefront of Sam's perception, and he was suddenly all too conscious of every item on the considerable list of injuries he'd accumulated. His head hurt, along with his shoulder, his chest, his ribs, his face, his wrists... He looked up at Bobby, offering a weak smirk. "Depends. Did the Impala run me over?"

"You were in pretty bad shape when I got to you."

"Mullin said you—"

Bobby huffed, touching his bruised face. "Yeah, there were two others in the building. I got one when I came in, but the other jumped me when I headed downstairs to find you."

"Are you all right?"

"Better than you. That knife went in deep, and you lost a lot of blood. Mullin hurt your ribs again, broke one. You got another concussion, a bad one this time. Doc says he wants to do some kinda scan when you wake up." Bobby paused, resting his elbows on the bed rail. "I told him there wasn't anything to scan up there, but he insisted."

Sam wanted to play along, but the room was spinning wildly, and his mind was a jumble of images and echoes of sounds. Despite all the flashes of memory, all he could see was Dean lying there, dead, blood pooling on the floor underneath him, eyes staring sightlessly. It was all for nothing: the past year, the demons he'd unintentionally freed in New York, the priest who had died because of Sam's inaction. All of it.

He wondered what that meant for Dean. Would he go back to Hell? Or would he be like Dad and move on? One of those thoughts nauseated him.

"Listen, Sam...about Dean," Bobby began.

Sam waved the older man off, but was unable to roll away or hide the tears welling in his eyes. He couldn't put words to his failure.

"He's asking for you. I know it's gonna be hard, but I talked to the doctor and he says he'll let you go down as long as you don't exert yourself."

It took a moment to sink in.

_He's asking for you._

Sam looked up at Bobby, blinking slowly, sure he was hearing things. "W-what?"

"He's in a room downstairs. He was touch and go for a while, but he's already awake."

"He—Dean's alive?"

Bobby frowned. "Yeah, 'course he is. Don't you remember? I told you he was alive back in that basement. His surgeon said the bullet glanced off a rib and went out his side. Lost a lot of blood, but he should be fine."

Sam took that in, trying to sort out what he'd seen and what he was hearing. His brain wasn't working properly.

Bobby stared at him oddly before a look of horror crossed his face. "Did you think—? Oh, God, kid, I'm sorry."

"How long have I been here?" Sam asked, reeling. _Dean is alive_..._we did it_.

Bobby lowered his voice. "Two days. Sarah came to, and she used my phone to call for help when I went to get you. A National Guard unit medevaced us here. We're in a hospital outside of San Marcos. Look, I know you're chomping at the bit to see Dean, but we need to go over the story first."

_Story? Oh…right. Cover_. Sam glanced at the doorway. The hall outside seemed clear, but he lowered his voice as well. "What did you tell them?"

A shrug. "The truth. Mostly. Two psychopaths kidnapped you, your brother, and your girlfriend, wanted to sacrifice you in some crazy satanic ritual..."

That made Sam smile faintly. It was a clean cover story. All the evidence would be there. But his thoughts were on someone else entirely, and Bobby seemed to see it on Sam's face.

"Tell you what, we can go over the details later. I'll keep the cops off you until we can talk."

Unable to do much more, Sam nodded. "What about Sarah? And the portal? Did you break the circle?" Had he seen that?

"Yeah, it's gone, and the storm went away overnight. I'm gonna go back later after everyone clears out and torch the circle, just to be sure. Sarah's already checked out. She's resting at a motel down the street. She had a broken hand, but that's it. Thank God."

Silence fell over them for several minutes after that. Sam tried to collect his thoughts.

Bobby fidgeted for a while, stealing glances at Sam. "Listen, kid...I just— I wanted to say...I'm sorry."

Sam blinked. "For what?"

"For...what I did to Dean. I didn't have any choice. I couldn't let Mullin bring those demons through, even if it meant—" He broke off, looking anywhere but Sam's direction.

"Bobby?" Sam waited for the other man to turn back to him before he smiled. The first genuine smile he could remember in a long time. "You did what needed to be done. That's why I gave you the Colt. I couldn't have done it. So, I guess what—I guess I'm saying _thank you_."

A light knock at the door ended any more discussion. Bobby turned and greeted the young nurse as she pushed a wheelchair into the room.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Singer. I'm here to bring your son downstairs. You think you can stand on your own, or should I call for an orderly?"

"I can do it," Sam said, feigning confidence when he honestly wasn't sure. He was tired and everything was throbbing even through the painkillers, but he needed to go see Dean. "If somebody can just help me sit up, I can do the rest."

It took a few minutes, but once Sam was on his feet, he actually felt better, if a bit lightheaded. He was sure that was the drugs talking, though. He eased himself into the wheelchair, and Bobby pushed while the nurse escorted them to the elevator.

Once there, Bobby turned to her and put on his most friendly, trustworthy face. "Nurse, if you don't mind, could I take Sam down myself? I'd like to fill him in before we see his brother."

Sam wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. The nurse seemed to understand, and patted Sam's good shoulder sympathetically before heading back to the nurses' station. Bobby maneuvered the chair into the elevator and waited until the doors closed before hitting the button and turning to face him. Sam swallowed, concern ratcheting up when he saw the nervous look on his friend's face.

"Sam...I think you should know. When I said Dean asked for you...that's all he's said. Just your name, over and over. He won't talk to anyone, and the docs are worried about him. One of the orderlies got too close yesterday, and they had to sedate him."

He remembered the look of terror he'd seen on his brother's face in the catacombs when he'd first returned, and then when Mullin was speaking to him. "You think he came back...wrong or something?"

"No." Bobby shook his head, rubbing his face. "He stays calm around me, and he seems to remember you. Personally, I'm wondering—I mean, he spent a year in Hell, Sam. I'm sure that can mess anybody up. I don't know. Let's see what happens when he sees you. Okay?"

Sam agreed, but worry gnawed at his gut. _What if Dean doesn't recover? _He'd spent so long wishing for the day Dean was free of Hell that he never considered what might happen after that. What would his brother be like after a whole year in the Pit?

Those thoughts swirled in his head until they reached Dean's room. Until Sam saw Dean curled on his side in the bed, he realized it hadn't seemed real. Watching his brother, it hit Sam. _Dean's back_. One of those clichéd jumps for joy wouldn't be out of the question, a victory lap around the hospital, maybe, but Sam's abused body and scrambled brain weren't up to any of it. All he could do was grin—ear to ear, he was sure.

"Think you can make it from here?" Bobby asked quietly. "I'll wait outside."

Dean appeared to be asleep. Sam nodded, huffing lightly as he used his legs to push himself forward. It wasn't particularly easy, but with his arm in a sling, it was all he could do.

As he rolled closer, he noticed Dean's eyes were shut tightly, and he appeared to be dreaming. The shoulders were too tense, and he was shaking violently under the white sheets. It was almost certainly a nightmare. Sam stopped close to the bed, started to reach out, but froze. He didn't want to spook his sibling. Instead, he rolled a comfortable distance away and waited. There was no telling what waking prematurely might do to Dean.

Sam sat for almost an hour, waiting. Bobby went down to the cafeteria for coffee and some sandwiches. As he sat with his back to the door, Sam let his mind wander.

It took all his self-control not to leap from the chair when a small, soft hand brushed the back of his neck by his collar.

"Sam?"

He turned, finding Sarah behind him. For a brief moment, he flashed back to the last time she'd snuck into his hospital room, but Mullin was dead, and the anti-possession necklace he'd placed on her in the asylum was still there. Sam relaxed, casting a cautious glance at Dean to make sure he was still asleep. "Hi, Sarah."

She smiled—still that glowing smile he remembered from the first day they'd met—and laid her hand on his shoulder. "I wanted to see how you were."

"I'm alive," he hedged. "Are you okay?"

Sarah waved her hand, showing off her cast. "Been better. But I'm still alive, thanks to you."

His smile faltered. "I'm sorry you got mixed up in all this."

"You didn't send that demon after me. It's not your fault."

Sam didn't know how to answer that. In many ways, it _was_ his fault. Mullin would never have gone after Sarah if he hadn't known that she meant something to him. She changed the subject before he could say anything more on that point.

"How is he?" Sarah asked, looking over at Dean.

Sam had no easy answer to that one. "I don't know. Bobby said he was pretty messed up. He hasn't woken up yet."

"Mind if I keep you company?"

Sam looked at her uncomfortably. He had a lot to explain to her, and he didn't know where to begin with that any more than he did with his brother. But he nodded, suggesting she pull a vinyl-covered chair over.

She did, placing it next to his wheelchair. They sat quietly, watching Dean sleep. Sam mulled over how to explain everything to her, but was hung up on where to start. Finally, he decided to jump in at the beginning and hope she understood.

"Um…listen, Sarah…I know I haven't called in a long time. I, uh— When Dean— When Dean died, I was pretty screwed up. I know that's…I mean—"

She stopped him, placing a hand on his knee. "I get it, Sam. You don't have to explain."

Sam gave her a grateful smile. "I…kinda feel like I do. It's a long story, though."

"I think we have time," she replied, leaning back in her chair.

He looked at her, his smile growing of its own accord. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Sam felt like he _did_ have time. He placed his hand on hers and started talking.

**SPNSPN**

Dean slept most of the day, alternating between peaceful slumber and nightmares. Sam watched and waited, fighting sleep himself. Sarah had left for the motel a few hours before. His drugs had worn off, and while he was growing more uncomfortable by the moment, he stayed at his post, guarding over his brother.

A faint whimper from Dean brought Sam more alert. Another nightmare. Sitting and watching had begun to feel cruel, so Sam finally rolled closer to the bed and whispered, "Dean?" hoping the sound of his voice might end the dream, anyway.

His brother's eyes snapped open and he jumped as if the whisper had been a shout. Dean's gaze darted around the room until they landed on Sam and stayed there. When his breathing returned to normal, he blinked a few times. "S-Sam...?"

Sam rolled closer, reaching out and placing his hand on Dean's forearm. "Hey."

Dean stared at Sam's hand, eyes moving over the bandages on the wrist, then looked up and examined Sam a little closer. "Is—is this real?"

"I hope so." Sam chuckled softly. He was bordering on the world's worst chick-flick moment, but quelled the urge to scoop his older brother into a hug. He wasn't sure how Dean would react, and besides, Sam would probably pass out.

His brother kept looking at him, a frown forming.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"You look like crap."

Sam laughed at that. "You looked in a mirror lately, jerk?"

Dean didn't smile back, but his expression softened a bit. Suddenly, he snapped his head around, staring behind him, then searching the ceiling.

"Dean? What is it?"

"Nothing," his brother said distractedly. "You didn't hear that?"

"Um…no. I can…check the room out if you want," Sam said uncertainly. _Bobby's right. Dean must be having trouble adjusting_.

"No, it's fine. Where exactly are we?"

Something in Dean's tone told Sam he didn't quite believe any of what he was seeing was real. Sam answered calmly, "Hospital in Texas."

"They said I was shot."

"Yeah," Sam replied, clearing his throat. "That's, uh, a long story."

Before, Dean would have pressed for an explanation, but he just nodded absently.

Bobby entered the room before Sam could say anything more. He looked upset. "I just heard two of the doctors talking. They want to take Dean up to psych for an evaluation."

Alarm bells went off in Sam's head. If the doctors tried to commit Dean, it'd be next to impossible to bust him out, especially if he started talking about where he'd been the past year. _They'll lock him up_. Sam couldn't allow that. "They say when?"

Bobby nodded. "I think they want to check in tomorrow. Make the decision then."

"Then you need to get Dean out of here tonight," Sam determined. Dean looked at him when he said that. "Dean? Are you okay to go with Bobby, stay in a motel?"

Dean looked from Sam to Bobby and back, then nodded uncertainly. He was still healing, but from what Sam had been told, the bullet didn't do any serious damage. They'd both skipped out of hospitals with worse.

Sam, on the other hand, was a different story.

"What about you?" Bobby voiced the concern. "You're in no condition to leave, Sam."

He thought about it, then nodded. "Yeah. I'll stay. Cover for you. I can make a big show of them losing my brother overnight. Put them on the defensive for a few days. When I get stronger, I can slip out."

Hospital staffs were easier to defeat than demons, so Sam was confident in the plan. Dean's mental state worried him, though. His brother was scanning the room again, searching for something only he was aware of.

Bobby crouched beside Sam and spoke quietly. "I know someone back in New York City. Therapist, but she's worked with hunters. She knows about this stuff. Dean saying he was in Hell won't spook her. Maybe she can help him."

Sam watched Dean's nervous behavior for a few more minutes, then nodded. "I'll talk to him about it. Sounds like a good idea."

**SPNSPN**

_Six Months Later…._

The park outside Doctor Stover's small clinic was beautiful, even with no leaves on the trees. It was a chilly December day, and the forecast was calling for snow in the next week or so. Sam would be happy to get out of Dodge before that; the Impala's tires were worn out.

He sat on the bench, snuggled in his coat, bouncing his leg impatiently. Dean was supposed to be out already.

Today was Dean's final day in the therapist's care. He was finally back to his old self, though Sam could still see some shadows in his eyes, and he figured he always would. Hell wasn't something therapy could simply _cure_.

Sam had visited his brother every day, usually for several hours. He wouldn't have accepted any less after so long. Stover had insisted Dean stay in the clinic, though, rather than stay at Sarah's with Sam. She wanted him to be able to let his guard down. After some strenuous objecting at first, Sam had reluctantly backed off when Dean had agreed with the psychiatrist.

A pair of ice cold hands slid between his neck and his collar. Sam jumped, hearing a giggle behind him. He turned and fixed Sarah with a halfhearted glare. "I liked it better when you had the cast. It was warmer."

Sarah circled around the bench and sat beside him, curling up against his thick coat. "Not my fault you have such a warm neck. A girl's gotta find warmth where she can out here."

She brushed the back of one index finger along his cheek, tracing the long scar. It wasn't as bad as it had been at first. Sarah had found some sort of vitamin cream that Sam probably never would have known about unless she'd showed him. It had helped a lot, but the pale scar was still very visible, especially when his skin was tanned. Sarah smiled. "You barely notice it unless you get close."

_Liar_, he thought. He noticed it all the time. Sam didn't reply, just leaned in and kissed her lightly. She slid her hands inside his coat and rested her head on his finally healed shoulder. They'd reconnected in the past few months, since he'd been staying with her, and Sam regretted having lost touch with her in the first place.

It had started as necessity. Dean was at the clinic, Sam needed a place to stay—both to wait on Dean and recover from his own injuries—and Sarah hadn't handled the period after her possession very well. After a few months, both he and Sarah had stopped thinking of it as a mere living arrangement, and picked up where they'd left off three years earlier.

Date number one had been Sam undercover, searching for information on a haunted painting at her dad's auction house. Date number two had been hunting a bloodthirsty ghost.

Date number three was just a movie. Sam figured he'd go more traditional, start over slowly.

Most of the time, Sam just saw Sarah Blake, the beautiful girl he'd run across on a hunt and liked. Sometimes though, he could see hints of the strong-willed resistance fighter he'd met in the other universe when he'd fallen through Mullin's portal. It was uncanny sometimes. He'd told Sarah all about that adventure—even that their counterparts had had a child, though under less than pleasant circumstances. Remarkably, it seemed to bring them closer together. Something had changed between them after he'd told her, but in a good way. He was afraid to ask what that something was.

Sam felt happy for the first time in years, and he wasn't in a rush to ask too many questions.

"Oh, God…get a room, you two."

Dean's pleasantly irritated voice from behind brought Sam out of his thoughts. He turned, grinning. "Hey. Everything okay?"

Dean adjusted the bag on his shoulder and spread his hands. "I'm a free man."

Sarah looked between them, a small smile gracing her face. "I'll go get the car."

Sam nodded to her. She'd driven him into the city that morning. "Okay."

When she headed for the parking lot, Dean joined Sam on the bench, staring out at the empty park.

Sam watched him quietly for a moment. "You okay?"

"I think I'm good." Dean shrugged. He looked over at Sam, expression sobering. "Nightmares aren't as bad. Doc said it'd take time, but eventually I wouldn't have any at all. I don't remember much when I'm awake, anyway."

Sam turned his eyes away, keeping them on a tree that was swaying in the wind. It had been hard not to feel completely responsible for Dean's condition, given why he'd gone to Hell in the first place. "I'm glad."

They sat silently for a while, before Dean nudged Sam's leg with his knee. "You said you'd tell me how you got me out of Hell when I could handle it. I'm about as ready as I am gonna get. So, spill it."

"It's a long story," Sam hedged. "Besides, when you hear it, you're gonna lock _me_ up in this clinic."

Dean smirked. "We got all the time in the world now, Sammy. Turnabout is fair play. And you _promised_."

Sam glanced at him, noting the glint of manipulation in his big brother's eyes. Dean was playing the guilt card on him. Already. He sighed in exasperation. "Okay, okay…story time. But before I forget, I need to run something by you. Bobby wants me to meet him upstate, in Liverpool. I need to leave tomorrow. You want to come with or stay with Sarah?"

The demons Mullin had released were still trapped beneath the church grounds, and Sam had to help send them back where they belonged. It was the least he could do, since it was essentially his search for that ancient spell book that had freed them in the first place. What was worse, when he and Bobby had gone back the asylum in Texas to make sure the portal was truly closed, the book was no where to be found.

"Meet him for what? A job?" Dean frowned, drawing Sam's attention back.

They hadn't discussed returning to hunting yet, and part of Sam didn't want to. "Well…it's part of that long story I'm about to tell. I…made a big mess in Liverpool, and Bobby's gonna help me clean it up."

He got a teasing glance for that. "Oh, I gotta hear this, now. What'd you get yourself into this time, little brother?"

Sarah pulled her car around the corner, stopping near the walkway in front of the clinic. They rose from the bench and started strolling her way.

Sam stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Well, it started about a year after you…uh—"

"Went to Hell. You can say it, Sammy. I won't snap."

_No, I really can't. Not yet_. Sam had his own issues to work out with that. He kept it to himself. "Um, a year after you…died, Bobby came to tell me about this storm. Actually…you remember that movie _The Final Countdown_? It was a storm just like that…."

END


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